The Steel Road
by presidentuziel
Summary: The Sole Survivor, General of the United Commonwealth, is executed by the Brotherhood of Steel. The Lone Wanderer, the Brotherhood's rightful leader, is thought dead for nearly a decade. The only hope for the Commonwealth and the Pitt from being swept away by Ronto, King Francis, or the Brotherhood are America's Greatest Heroes: The Unstoppables! But the NCR is not inattentive...
1. The General's Office

_Elder Maxson is liar and a monster_

 _Do not trust him_

 _He will turn on you, and nobody will remember_

 _-LW_

A simple note, jabbed into her desk at the Castle with a switchblade knife with a green snake jabbed into the note and the desk. A Minutewoman hung her head, holding her hat in her hands, waiting for the General to pass some kind of judgement for her failure. The General had been at Boston Airport for the better part of a week, coordinating training and patrols with Paladin Brandis. The Minutewoman had been tasked as the General's office guard, her bodyguard, one of the last lines of security, and she had failed in her duty. It hadn't been glorious duty, but it was an honorable position.

"And when was this found?" the General asked, studying the knife.

"After I returned from my break, General."

"Who was watching my office?"

"It was just to get a quick bite, sir, I was only gone for a minute."

The General nodded, and looked to her, "I understand. You may go on leave at quarter-pay for four days, and your Sergeant will process your demerit. Go to him first and inform him of my orders, and remain there until told otherwise. Dismissed."

The Minutewoman nodded, and took her leave.

"Four days of leave and partial pay?" Preston asked.

"Not going to punish her for being hungry and bored while on one of the most boring jobs in the Minutemen," the General said, sitting at her desk, studying the note and knife again, "Do you recognize this snake symbol at all, Preston? Maybe some Raider gang?"

Preston shook his head, "Can't say I do. But whoever they are they went through a lot of trouble to get this note to you. Not easy sneaking in here."

The General bit her lip, "I'm not so sure. The Castle may be a military installation but we treat it like any other town, really. Plenty of traders and civilians looking for housing placement come in through here. It wouldn't be tough finding a crack through the patrols. Just patience and attentiveness."

"What do you suggest?"

"I suggest we get a powered door for my office with a key to get in and out from now on. Keep the generator in here, maybe in the basement so this doesn't happen again, and nobody cuts power to the whole Castle if they want to try. And double my office's guard so they can work in shifts and get some lunch! Having people standing here watching the hallway for hours at a time. No wonder we had a slip-up, I can't believe something like this hasn't happened sooner," she went on.

"Are you concerned about further infiltration?"

"Only if I let this slip. I'll look into this knife. Whoever left it wants to be identified without giving too much away, so I'll hear them out, at least."

"Like the Railroad?"

Nora nodded, "Like the Railroad. Do you know where MacCready is these days?"

"He was headed back up here from DC last we heard with his kid," Preston informed her, "He should be back soon, if he hasn't gotten himself killed."

"RJ's tough, and so is his son, they'll be here. Besides this 'Steel Road' has made it a lot easier to get back and forth. I want to be informed the moment MacCready arrives back in the Commonwealth."

"Should we have him brought here?"

"What? No! Just get him to a radio. We're not going to drag people around the Commonwealth at my whim, Preston. Jesus, what's gotten into you these days?"

Preston winced, and his face twisted into a grimace, "Sorry, it's just not what I expected. All of this. The alliance with the Brotherhood and the Railroad. Trade with other regions. And, well…You, General."

"What about me?"

"People are talking. Saying things, about you, and…We've done some extraordinary things, General. I've been there through all of it, but I don't know what to think these days. I'm not sure what we're doing anymore. What's the plan? Where are we going?" Preston asked.

"Certainly not into a world where we can seize a private citizen and his son away from their plans to settle down just so that I can talk to them!" she shouted. Her eyes darted to the door, where a startled Minuteman was gawking at them. She stood, lumbered over to the door, slammed it, and turned back to Preston, "That is not the world we are trying to build, Preston. I _came_ from a world like that, where people could just get dragged out of their houses and _beaten_ for being suspected Communists. Do you know what a Communist is? Err, was?"

Preston shook his head, "I've seen posters and read some books, they're some kind of monster from Asia? They like to bleed people?"

The General let out a snort, then a second, and burst into laughter. Preston blushed and wrung his hands, and said, "Well sorry I didn't grow up around roving bands of Communists!"

She shook her head, "That's…What the old Government would want you to think. No, Preston, Communism was a model for politics and economics. It meant sharing all the means of producing goods-labor, food, metal, and so on-among all people, proportionally to their needs."

Preston shrugged, "Is that it? Sounds pretty good to me."

"Except that it wasn't practiced that way. Communism was just an excuse evil people used to justify enslaving other people, and said that they were going against the welfare of the people. But really, they were just trying to make themselves more powerful."

"Yeah I've heard that line before."

"On our side, we had politicians and corporations saying the same thing-they provided the things people wanted, so saying bad things about them meant you hated America. It meant you were a Communist. Of course over there, I think, if you said bad things about the Communists, you hated China, and you were an American. Sound familiar?"

"If you don't live our way, you must be a Synth," Preston said, nodding.

"I have no illusions about my power, Preston. We've broken the Raiders and Super Mutants and the Institute, we've rebuilt the Minutemen, we've established trade and protection from Boston to Champlie, and Far Harbor to the Pitt and the Capital Wasteland. I'm one of the most powerful and influential people in the country. To be honest? This is what I wanted."

Preston raised an eyebrow and asked, "You wanted this?"

"Yeah, influence, power. The capacity to direct the future of my country in a way that was more compassionate and productive. Something where people could live their lives with less fear and more food in their stomachs. One day, people are going to write history books again. And you know what's going to be after the chapter about you and I and everyone else that's helped us over the years? A map. That map is going show the Steel Road, if we can keep it going. It's gonna have dots on it showing different settlements, and arrowing and lines, so people can understand how big of a deal the Commonwealth is."

"What's your point?"

"My point is I want that map to show trade routes and the unification of New England. Not dates of conquest. And I want the chapter before it to be about how I was a Founding Mother, not a conquering tyrant. I want the Minutemen to be established all along the Steel Road. I want us to be equal partners in its protection, I don't just want the occasional Brotherhood kill team to be the only protection people can expect."

"That's…A tall order, General."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm not going to order thousands of soldiers to march south just to say we're there. We need to train, and equip, and we need to convince more communities throughout the Steel Road to join us. You mentioned those rumors? I've heard them too. Some say that I'm some kind of prewar Special Forces badass, or that I'm a Synth, and that I could take on twenty raiders with a shotgun, a knife, and Dogmeat, and I'm all out of shells. But the truth of the matter is that, the entire time, I had help. I had you, I had Codsworth, I had that weird loner guy that just pops out of the woodwork and shoots my enemies for me. I've had settlers who stepped up and became leaders in their towns. Smart people who understand modern economics, such as they are. I might be powerful, but I'm not doing everything alone. And the Minutemen can't be expected to do this alone, either."

"Hence, the Brotherhood of Steel."

"They can't be expected to protect the Steel Road. They're barely interested in it. Only reason they are is because it allows them to move people and technology without moving the Prydwen back and forth between here and the Capital Wasteland. Which is why I'm pushing the Minutemen to train and use better gear, because they're going to need it. There are still any number of stupidly dangerous things out there. Even without the Raiders and Super Mutants, there's still Mole Rates and Deathclaws and Yao Guai. Heh. Oh my."

"What?"

"Sorry. Old world joke. Anyway. Point is, we need to be able to handle these threats, and we need to be able to teach others, as well. That's what I'm working up to. To do that, we're going to need the help of the Brotherhood of Steel. And people like Robert Joseph MacCready who, you might recall, is the best sniper in the Commonwealth."

"If you say so," Preston huffed, "But what about this note? Who do you think it's from? What if they're right, and we can't trust the Brotherhood?"

"It doesn't say we can't trust the Brotherhood. It says we can't trust _Elder Maxson._ Those are very different statements."

"How's that?"

"If I were to get eaten by Mirelurks tonight, would the Minutemen still be there tomorrow?"

Preston paused, and thought. Tension filled his face as he mulled over the possibilities and implications, working out the scenarios in his mind. Each of his expressions showed an anguish that revealed no favorable outcomes in any of the examples that occurred to him. Eventually, he came to a conclusion, and said, "Yeah. We'd have a hard go of it, but we'd manage to move on without you. I'm not sure how things would be with the Brotherhood, but the Minutemen would still be here. We'd still expand and continue to build."

"Now if Elder Maxson were to be eaten by Mirelurks tonight, would the Brotherhood of Steel still be there tomorrow?"

"If Elder Maxson were to be eaten by Mirelurks tonight, I'd say you were due for a promotion, sir," he said. The General cracked a smile at this, but it quickly turned into a shattering glare.

"Elder Maxson is a dedicated soldier and proven leader whose hypothetical passing would be one worthy only of mourning throughout the country," she chided, "But you see my point."

"Yes, Sentinel Killinger," Preston replied in a Brotherhood salute. The General broke the tension with a chuckle, and she folded up the note, and put it in her pocket.

"I don't want anyone to know about what happened here. I don't want the content of the note or any of the details getting. I want you to make sure that soldier keeps her mouth shut. I want her in the first Advanced Drills class run by Minutemen, she is _not_ to talk to any members of the Brotherhood of Steel until I say it's OK. Get her mind _off_ of what happened by training her and making her greatest concern the fact that she hasn't been keeping up with pressing her uniform to the satisfaction of her Drill Sergeant. And once she's been trained to the Advanced standard, bring her back to me. I'll…Figure out what to do to keep her mouth shut if we haven't resolved this by then."

"Yes, General."

"And, Preston?"

"Yes, General?"

"It caught on this time."

"Ma'am?"

She grinned, "We're gonna be parents. The new surrogate took. We're gonna have a little girl."


	2. Sunshine Tidings

"Dad, my legs hurt," Duncan said.

"Yeah, I know, Duncan. We're almost there, we just need to get over this hill, okay? I promise, we're almost there."

"You said that about the _last_ hill."

"Well, this time I mean it."

"You said that, too."

"You said _that,_ too-"

"DUNCAN! Shut up!" MacCready ordered. The boy got quiet, and looked down at his saddle. The massive rat that was his steed sensed his rider's sudden swing of emotion, and its pace slowed down as the boy lamented and started to sob. MacCready sighed.

"Duncan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you."

"I wish mom was here, she wouldn't yell at me."

"No," MacCready's voice broke, "No, she wouldn't. She'd…Have known what to do, what to say to make it feel better, but, I don't know what that is, Duncan. I know you're tired. I'm looking forward to a nice bed and a chicken dinner and listen to Travis Miles on the radio again."

"What about Three-Dog?" Duncan asked.

"We don't get Three-Dog up here. Sorry, Duncan."

"Aww…"

"But seriously, the Commonwealth is great. There's a town run by robots, you know."

"Yeah you told me."

"Well, what about the town built on top of a gas station?"

"Yeah you told me that one, too."

"Well, have I told you about the _four-hundred-year old fort_ that is _still_ being used?"

"Yeah."

"Oh…I kinda spoiled it all, huh?'

"Kinda."

"Well, it'll be cooler when you see it, trust me. The Commonwealth is great."

"Is the Brotherhood of Steel up here? Oh, can I be a squire?"

The color drained from MacCready's face, "Where did you learn about the Squires?"

"I learned it at Little Lamplight. The Brotherhood comes there sometimes, with the Squires, and they tell us all kinds of cool stories about Elder Maxson! He's the best!"

"Yeah? What did they tell you 'bout him?" Duncan asked.

"He killed a Deathclaw with a knife!"

"Did he now? Well, I know someone who wrestled a Deathclaw with just her bare hands."

"Nuh uh!"

"Yah huh! I was there!"

"I don't believe you."

"Well, when we meet her, you can ask her all about it. But for now, you can get off the rat."

"Why?" Duncan whined, "I don't want to walk! My legs hurt from the saddle!"

"Because we're here, kiddo."

He walked the giant rat around the billboard, and they stood above a town built atop and into the side of a hill. The core of the town consisted of a market with people buzzing about, with guard towers and turrets on top of every building, covering every alleyway. On the side of the hill was melon and gourd fields, with people weeding and watering and harvesting the crops and bringing them into the market. There were several old or rebuilt cabins, and these were all well-lit and decorated, preserved from before the war and evidently the highest valued properties, since each one was behind their own set of fences or walls. On the side of the hill was a shanty town, shacks built upon shacks, but even here, there were lights and life and guards roaming around. There was a fence around the town but no walls.

"Woah!" Duncan's eyes lit up, "This is bigger than Big Town!"

"Sure is. There's over a _hundred_ people here in Sunshine Tidings Co-Op. This is the last stop before you exit the Commonwealth, and the first if you're arriving."

"But you said it's in the west, I thought we came from the south?" Duncan asked. MacCready had shown Duncan the map basically every night on their trip up here.

"Well that's because of the Glowing Sea, remember?"

"But why all around it up here?" Duncan asked. They were walking down the hill into the town itself.

"Well, in the east there are these raiders called the Gunners. They're really bad guys, and they tricked your old man into thinking they were good guys a long time ago, when you were still sick. They make it so nobody can come in from the south. So we have to go all the way around."

"That's dumb."

"It is dumb."

They entered the town, and were not greeted by anyone; people came through Sunshine Tidings all the time, and a new stranger was not one worth noticing. Even the Rats were no longer an uncommon sight since their discovery and domestication. MacCready led their beast to the local motel, the 'Goodfeels Motel,' where the robot Professor Goodfeels was hovering behind the counter.

"Hey man, it's good to see you again, dude," the robot greeted.

"You're looking pretty loose there, Professor," MacCready observed.

"Thanks. Been keeping it easy these days. You guys need a room or somethin'?"

"Sure do."

"Right on, man. Ten caps, plus another three for your critter in the stable. Can I do anything else for ya, brother?" the robot inquired.

"We're pretty tuckered out, but we could use a cleaning. Got any bathtubs open?"

"Sure do, man. Showers now, too. Tub is five caps for an hour, ten if you want fresh water. Shower is just three caps. Either one comes with soap and a clean towel. For an extra cap we can give you a hubflower scenting. Smell nice and natural! At least that's what they tell me."

"I could go for a fresh, clean bath before we crash," MacCready put down ten caps, "You can, uh, hold the flowers. No need to get totally crazy."

"I hear you, man. You gotta party at your own pace," the robot handed them a couple of keys, "Bathhouse is in the back past the rooms. Just turn the key and the tub will fill with clean water. Your room is number four."

"Looking forward to it. You take it easy, Professor."

"Thanks, dudes. You, too."

"You ever had a hot bath, Duncan?" MacCready asked his son. They'd only been separated for three years, but he had missed out on so much. Of course Duncan had hot baths, when RJ had been there for his son and his wife. But he didn't know what Duncan had been through since RJ had gone to find the cure for his son's condition.

"A couple of times, at Little Lamplight. The Brotherhood of Steel would make the water hot," Duncan explained. There they were again, the damn Brotherhood of Steel, giving his son dreams and comforts RJ hadn't been able to provide him.

"Well, where we're going, they have hot water all the time, so you can get a hot bath every week," RJ led him to the bathhouse. It was a metal shack lined with plastic, with drains along the end to catch runoff and condensation. There were two stalls for the tubs, which were pretty roomy, and five stalls with showers. This room was attached to another room in the front, where a clerk ran the bathhouse as its own business. MacCready picked one of the open tubs stalls, which was full of grey-white, though still clear, water, and he took off his jacket, hanging it up.

"Where are we going?" Duncan asked.

"There's this little town called Finch Farms. I helped out the Finches, so they sold me a plot of land. They've got all sorts of cool stuff there, you know. The Minutemen have artillery pieces and they hang up some of their suits of Power Armor, and hot water, and it's right next to the ocean," RJ explained as he drained the tub, and turned the key in the faucet. Hot water started to fill the room, steaming up the room. RJ placed his pistol on the chair in the room, which he moved closer to the tub.

"What about Mirelurks?" Duncan asked, "Don't they live in the ocean?"

"Mirelurks don't like living next to people. Besides, the water purifier makes things too loud for them. They stay away from water that's got too much noise. And if they do get too close, POW! We'll shoot 'em dead and eat crab that night," RJ made a gun with his finger and thumb, "Let's hop in the tub, then we'll get some sleep. We have about another day of walking before we get there."

"Aww, _more_ walking?" Duncan whined.

"Yes, more walking, but no more after that. Promise, honest and for true. Once we're at Finch Farms, we're done walking across the country," he lifted his son and slid the boy into the tub, "We can be whatever we want. No more Ghouls, no more dirty jobs. No more living in caves."

"I liked Little Lamplight!"

"Yeah, so did I," RJ said, slipping into the tub with him, "But everyone at Little Lamplight is an orphan. They only have each other, and once you're sixteen, the fun times are over. Then you're a Mungo, and it's Big Town for you. But you and I, we have each other. And once we're at Finch Farms, we'll have neighbors and friends that you couldn't have at Little Lamplight."

"Wait, you lived at Little Lamplight, too?"

RJ grinned.

"Lived there? I was _mayor._ Let me tell you all about it."

RJ made sure that Duncan was tucked in, before laying on top of the covers, covering himself only with one blanket. He kept his pistol on the dresser. Normally he would set up a trip wire alarm, but he was too exhausted, and he trusted the settlements of the Commonwealth far more than the burned out houses along the Steel Road. He passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. It was a dreamless sleep, the kind where a person remembers closing their eyes, and then waking up hours later with a twitch when they were suddenly awake.

* * *

RJ twitched awake when he heard a knock on his door. Before his eyes were even open, he'd grabbed his pistol, and he bolted up. Duncan didn't wake, but he did whimper and clutch the blanket more tightly. RJ sat and listened for the repeat knock, which happened, and he stepped to the door. He held the gun against the door and hissed,

"Who's there?"

There was a pause.

"Robert MacCready?" a woman asked.

"I asked first."

"Sergeant Cayford, Commonwealth Minutemen. I have a message for Robert MacCready."

He cracked the door open, peeking out, "I'm Robert MacCready."

There was a thick, stocky-built woman on the other side. He'd seen Super Mutants with more neck than she had, and with less muscle. She handed him a slip of paper.

"I received orders to expect you, and to deliver a telegram," she explained. He took it.

"I didn't know the Minutemen were in the message delivery business," he said.

"Only when it comes from the General, mister MacCready."

It took RJ a moment to realize who she was talking about, and it hit him. He just knew her as Nora. With that, he looked at the telegram.

 _Robert,_

 _Surrogate took, expecting a girl, stop._

 _Have a mystery for you to consult on, stop._

 _Will meet you at your homestead after you settle in, stop._

 _Not an adventure, just need your experience on something, stop._

 _Looking forward to seeing you again, stop._

 _Tell Duncan I said hello, stop._

 _Regards, Nora_

RJ read it over a couple of times. Nothing urgent. Just afternoon tea at his new house. Right. And he was a purple, hornless Deathclaw that sang about hugs and brushing your teeth.

"Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate the message. Please inform the General I look forward to seeing her, if you can, I don't want to get in the way of anything, and this isn't urgent."

"If it's a message to the General, then it's urgent."

"Brief, then."

She nodded, and took her leave. RJ turned back to Duncan, who had now stolen most of the blankets. RJ chuckled to himself, and laid back down on the bed. They didn't have to rush there. He ran their route through his head. They'd swing by Drumlin Diner and have lunch there. Maybe they'd stop at Taffington if movement was slow, and they'd spend the night there, but they would probably be at Finch Farms by tomorrow night. His mind wandered to the telegram. If Nora wanted something badly enough she would send a message ahead of time, what could possibly be that important?

Still. He looked forward to seeing her glow about the new baby. Maybe now he'd see what other people saw when RJ talked about Duncan.


	3. Public Irritations

"Another enthralling piece from the Commonwealth's top reporter, Sentinel," Proctor Teagan remarked, handing Nora the latest issue of _Public Occurances._ This title was pretty on the nose: 'Tyrants of Steel.'

"Oh dear," Nora sighed, taking the paper along with the fixed power armor piece.

"She's going to cause problems, you know. We need to do something about this," Teagan warned.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right," Nora began fastening the armor piece to her frame, "Piper's heart is in the right place. It's just been…Broken. It can't be as bad as the title suggests."

"You haven't read it," Teagan retorted.

"Then someone's been doing something wrong, and I intend to find out what Piper found. Piper wouldn't publish anything that wasn't verifiable."

"Maybe. What I don't get is why she goes after us. There are other targets in the Commonwealth that are actually worth going after, like the Gunners. I don't see why she has to make a stink about the Brotherhood, when all we've done is help the locals," he wiped his counter with a rag, finally getting a bit of grease stain that simply always been there.

"Because we took her sister," Nora informed him, "And she was all Piper had."

"What, was she a Synth?"

"Worse. She's a Squire. Lay off the scuttlebutt, Proctor, until I can get to the bottom of this, all right?" Nora requested, finishing the fastening of her armor piece.

"All right, if you say so, Sentinel," he conceded, "But if it doesn't happen soon, someone's going to do something stupid. God knows we could use some news to actually read that isn't talking about how we're child-abductors and murderers."

"I'll loan you a copy of Hot Rodder," Nora promised.

"Now _that_ sounds like a good read."

Nora stepped out of Proctor Teagan's armory. The Prydwen was no longer above Boston Airport, and now the Brotherhood had further fortified the airport itself. Their numbers were far fewer than they had been during the Institute War as the main body of the Brotherhood had moved back to the Capital Wasteland, and were now spreading their teams thinner along the Steel Road, searching for new technologies in previously unexplored areas. It was rumored that the Prydwen was headed to Lower Imperia, the region between New York City and Albany, but that region was infested with Ghouls and Raiders, and was the toughest part of the Steel Road to traverse. Most caravaners didn't go through it at all, instead chartering ferries to go around the New York Flats. If Lower Imperia could be tamed, then more caravans would take the land route, with sea travel being expensive and a totally different kind of dangerous. Nora wanted to send the Minutemen into the area, but they had to focus on finishing off the Gunners before they could start expanding into other regions.

Still, the idea of the Brotherhood of Steel establishing themselves so close to New York City without anyone to meaningfully put a check on their power or their pride…

Nora entered the diner, and parked her Power Armor in the corner, alongside another Knight's suit. It was rude to eat at the diner in your Power Armor, and difficult to boot. She took the offered plate of Ragstag and a Nuka-Cola, which had been de-irradiated. It lost a certain bit of its kick, but it was still tasty. She flipped open the newspaper to the 'Tyrants of Steel' article, and read.

 _The Brotherhood. The Minutemen. The Neighborhood Watch. The Atom Cats. Diamond City Security. The Railroad. The Automatons._

 _We've come to rely on these groups to provide us with security and safety. Over the last three years we've seen them blossom from patrolling their own little corners of the Commonwealth to a network coordinating efforts to make this land a far easier place to live. Many of us are familiar with the basic cost of supporting groups like this: Taxes and labor. After all, nothing is inevitable but death and taxes. Some people risk the former to avoid the latter, but most would rather not take that chance._

 _Since the arrival of the Brotherhood of Steel, however, they have taken more than our caps in exchange for their 'help.' The Brotherhood of Steel has seized some of the greatest centers of technology and learning in the Commonwealth. Knowledge and technology that should be the right of all the people of the Commonwealth. With these, we could rebuild far more than what we have managed._

 _The arrival of the Brotherhood bolstered our fears of the Synth menace. They validated things we were already terrified of, and at the height of the War, it was useful. It kept some alive. Now, the Synths are free, free to be who they are, whoever they may have chosen to be. The distinction is no longer important, because no more Synths will be made. But that fear has not gone. Not of the Synths, not of anything, really. It hangs there, like a specter, emanating from no seeable source since the destruction of the Institute. Perhaps it will adopt a new face, or be adopted by a new threat, but the fear, it seems, is not created from something._

 _It was brought with someone._

 _It was brought with Elder Maxson._

 _We had every reason to fear the Institute, but it was a different kind of fear. It was the cold chill that you feel when you're being stalked by a pack of wild dogs. That feeling that you're not alone, that something is about to get you. The Brotherhood of Steel assuaged that fear, and replaced it with a different kind of fear. The Brotherhood is built upon the kind of fear that someone talks you into. The kind of fear that makes you vote to throw out your Ghoul neighbor, the kind of fear that makes you shoot a stranger because they dress in the kinds of suits they wear in Goodneighbor. The kind of fear that makes you drive out traders from your Vault._

 _It's the kind of fear that tyrannies are built upon. The Brotherhood saved us from that primal, very real fear, but they brought back the Red Panic from before the Great War. There's a tension in the Commonwealth, even now, three years after the destruction of the Institute. We no longer have an enemy to fight, but the old enemy of fear itself. And the Brotherhood knows this._

 _In the Capital Wasteland, there is a town called Little Lamplight. It's inhabited entirely by children, orphans from around the Wastes. In recent years, the Brotherhood of Steel has been baiting children out of their homes and coercing them to join as Squires. They paint the Raiders that once preyed on them from Paradise Falls as a reason for them to join._

 _Paradise Falls was cleansed of slavers over fifteen years ago. The market that bought slaves from them was destroyed a year after. Paradise Falls is now a community of farmers and scavengers._

 _Little Lamplight is now at its lowest population in over two hundred years of inhabitation by people under the age of sixteen. Thirty percent of inhabitants of Little Lampshade join the Brotherhood of Steel._

 _Earnest Wilkinson was once a Raider. He was a drug addict who failed to keep his job which supported his addiction. Nobody in his community reached out to him, and he took to mugging. The muggings turned into regular beatings and extortions, until he was picked up by a gang. For the first time in his life, he had connections with other people, who validated the way he lived his life. His gang was wiped out by a Minuteman patrol. I do not weep for the deaths of his friends, and neither should you._

 _But Earnest, he decided to do something with himself. He saw that the Minutemen had the same kind of camaraderie he had gained when he was a Raider, and decided to build something like that. Something that built bonds without destroying others. So he became a caravan driver. He salvaged what he could and bought himself a Brahmin. He went from Raider Camp to Raider Camp, convincing them to buy goods from him, convincing them to open their doors, safely, to other caravans. He wanted to build bonds between the Raider tribes and the rest of the commonwealth._

 _One day he happened into a Raider camp where their leader had a suit of custom-built Power Armor. The Brotherhood of Steel decided they wanted the suit, and cleansed the location with one of their signature kill-teams. Earnest hid during the fight. He watched the Brotherhood slaughter the camp that, just a few minutes before, he had been trading food to. He understood that. He didn't mourn them, and neither should you. But what he witnessed sent that very real cold fear through him. When the Raiders had been broken, the Brotherhood sent attack dogs into the forest to hunt down the ones that fled. What Raiders didn't escape or die in the ensuing hunt were dragged back with bloody, mangled limbs. The Brotherhood didn't bother tying them up. They just vaporized the entire gang. They took every scrap of technology they could, and set fire to the camp._

 _The Rule of the Raiders in the Commonwealth is that what weakens one gang strengthens another. Earnest went to that other gang, and went about his business. During his trading, he bought a plasma pistol in good condition. With this, he could defend himself more readily, or sell it for a nice, hefty profit, and maybe even expand his network. On his way out, a Brotherhood patrol saw his plasma pistol, and demanded he hand it over. He refused, and the Brotherhood took it from him by shooting his Brahmin and beating him into an inch of his life. He was rescued by another caravan._

 _Earnest later lost his leg as a result of the Brotherhood mugging. He rejected the offer of a highly advanced prosthetic, in favor a far more basic one, for fear of Brotherhood acquisition of the technology. He now struggles with pain, and has to use Med-X just to be functional. Earnest is not a saint. He has a lot to answer for in his life, and we will hold him to that. But maiming and mugging him is not the answer._

 _If Earnest's plight does not convince you, then perhaps that of the Atom Cats will. In the southern Commonwealth, the Atom Cats are a more common sight than the Brotherhood. They are easily identified by the distinctive flame pattern Power Armor suits they wear, just as advanced and well-kept as anything the Brotherhood of Steel has. They have, for years, helped protect and maintain nearby settlements with patrols and technical assistance. Not only do they fix purifiers and build turrets for small towns, they write poetry and draw art that makes the Commonwealth a much more beautiful place._

 _They teach children wordplay and give books that make it easier for the illiterate to learn their numbers and letters. Unlike Earnest, they are, compared to most everyone in the Commonwealth, actually saints. They have kept the Gunners at bay for years, and now have begun to push them back, all because it's the right thing to do. They have recently forged an agreement with the Minutemen to coordinate and teach._

 _The Brotherhood of Steel, however, is far less accommodating. Their leader, Zeke, has reported no less than fifteen different incidents between the Atom Cats and the Brotherhood of Steel, where the Brotherhood demanded that the Atom Cats hand over their suits, mods, and technology, or otherwise harassed or detained their members. Zeke mentioned that these do not include the verbal abuse they have suffered from members of the Brotherhood. On at least one occasion, an Atom Cat and a Brotherhood Scribe were injured in a firefight when a Scribe was caught inside the Atom Cats garage._

 _With the recent deal between the Minutemen and the Atom Cats, which directly recognizes the Atom Cats as having authority in the Minutemen as if they_ were _Minutemen, this is actually a violation of the Castle Accord, the formal alliance between the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel. The Atom Cats, who are used to operating with their methods, have not sent their complaints up the line to the Minutemen chain of command, preferring, instead, to handle the matter themselves, as they always have: With a smile and a laid-back attitude that lets bygones be bygones._

 _But how long until the Brotherhood goes too far with the Atom Cats? Who will get hurt? And how long is it going to be until they decide to take technology from someone who isn't an ex-raider, or someone in Power Armor?_

 _How long are we going to be afraid?_


	4. Finch Farm Reunion

"So? What do you think? Got your own room and everything. Got a roof, plenty of sunshine. Other kids to play with, and you don't have to eat mushrooms all day," RJ asked Duncan. They'd arrived at their new house the day before, and Duncan was still exploring every nook and cranny he could find.

"It's pretty cool," Duncan said flatly.

"Yeah," RJ agreed, trying not to sound totally heartbroken and crushed, "Pretty cool."

There was a cheer and a holler from outside, and RJ peeked out a window. A Vertibird with the Minutemen logo on the side was landing in the field outside, and the other settlers were waving their hats in greeting.

"Hey, Duncan! C'mere!" RJ opened the door, "Ever seen a Vertibird up close?"

"Yeah."

"Have you ever _been_ in one?"

The boy's eyes lit up. There we go.

RJ joined the small crowd in the back, as a few Minutemen stepped out of the Vertibird, including General Nora herself, who was wearing her General's outfit, all blue and stuffy. Her T-45 Minuteman custom Power Armor remained in the Vertibird. Nora herself kept dark, short hair that was starting to turn an early gray. She shook hands and took pictures with people in the crowd; one person actually held up their fussy toddler for her to kiss as she struggled through the crowd.

"How about a kiss for my kid, too?" RJ asked, offering Duncan forward. Duncan glared at his father as the betrayal was so offered.

"Of course," she leaned over and kissed Duncan on the cheek. Duncan scrunched up his face.

"And what about me?" RJ offered his cheek. Nora slapped it instead, causing RJ to emit an, "Ow!"

"How are you, MacCready?" she asked.

"Little sore. Little disappointed. Pretty tired from my trip, too," he replied, "This is my son, Duncan. Duncan, this is Nora. She's the lady who found the cure that made you all better."

Duncan went from his annoyed, scrubbing-the-cooties-off-his-face to absolute wonder, " _You're_ the Vault Lady?"

"I sure am."

"Cool! And you have a Vertibird and-" Duncan saw Dogmeat at Nora's side. RJ didn't know Duncan's eyes could get that big as Duncan yelped, "And you have a fluffy!"

"Yep, that's my fluffy."

Duncan was immediately transfixed by Dogmeat, who lavished in the attention from the human puppy.

"I knew you were a big deal but you're a straight up celebrity these days, Nora. You've got quite the welcome party here. Don't let it go to your head now, it's already just massive."

"I'll put some ice on it, maybe that'll help with the swelling."

"I dunno, you might just need to let some air out."

"Well we couldn't use you to do it, you're not sharp enough."

"Ouch! One of these days I'll get you."

"You're a good shot, MacCready, but not that good," Nora reminded him.

"True enough. Why don't we head up to my house, and we can talk? Duncan! Stay with Dogmeat, he'll keep you safe, OK?"

"OK dad! Get the stick, Dogmeat!"

"So congratulations on the girl," RJ said as they walked up the hill.

"Yeah, Preston and I are really excited. The surrogate is a little nervous, but we have her in Vault 81 right now. She'll get the best care there, especially with Curie overseeing things," Nora said.

"Preston, huh? Always pegged him for being too much of a tight-ass to get the job done. Or did he need to be pegged to loosen him up first?"

"I thought you were trying to get rid of your filthy tongue?" she glared down at him, though smirking.

"Hey, I didn't cuss, did I? I'm just saying. It didn't have to be him," he reminded her. There was a pause, as her expression melted to one of a hard neutrality.

"In a lot of ways, it did. When you asked me, Robert, I had…A lot going on. I couldn't. I was barely keeping things together with Piper, and with the war…" Nora rubbed her hands.

"No, I know, I…Probably shouldn't have asked when I did. Especially when I had to go get Duncan."

"We had responsibilities. No, more than that, I think, we had other loves that…We couldn't compromise on. I had the Minutemen and the Brotherhood, and you had Duncan. I think it would have been fun, I really do, Robert. I wish we'd had the time," Nora lamented.

"Well, we're alone now?" he offered. She smiled, tucked her hand into the breast of her coat, and pulled out a switchblade, which she opened with a definitive 'click.'

"Not _that_ alone," she pointed out, and she handed the knife to him, hilt-first. MacCready took it, and looked it over.

"What's this?"

"A gift someone jabbed into my desk after slipping past my guard, along with a spooky note. You've been further around the continent than I have, I was hoping you would recognize the snake symbol. I was thinking some kind of mercenary or raider gang. I needed to bring this to someone I trusted, I couldn't risk a general inquiry about it. I think it's from the Capital Wasteland," she explained.

"How do you figure?" he asked, holding it up to the light.

"Just something that was in the note. I'd explain but it's one of those 'need to know' sorts of deals, and I don't want to color your memory with details."

"I'm not a big fan of secrets, Nora."

"Oh I love secrets. That's why I try to find as many as I can."

"That explains why they call you 'Nosy Nora' then. Yeah, I recognize the snake."

"Who's it from?"

"A gang in the Capital Wasteland called the Tunnel Snakes."

"What are Raiders doing in my offices?"

"No, I didn't say Raiders, I said gang. They're more like the Atom Cats than the Forged, just without the Power Armor. Their leader is a barber in Rivet City. Damn good haircuts. The guy's name is Butch Deloria, he was a Vault Dweller up until Vault Town opened up. The Tunnel Snakes control chunks of the DC metro, which allows caravans to move through them safely. They're good guys, but I don't see why they would be up here in the Commonwealth."

"Hmm. Any of them former members of the Brotherhood of Steel?"

"I don't think so, why?"

"The note said that Elder Maxson couldn't be trusted."

"So it was an obvious statement?"

Nora rolled her eyes, "How do I get in contact with the Tunnel Snakes from up here? How do I find this guy? What do the Tunnel Snakes want?"

"The Tunnel Snakes want to look tough. You show them the proper respect, and they'll respect you. They're egotists. Their motto is 'Tunnel Snakes Rule.' Seriously."

"I've heard you say that line before."

"Yeah it was kind of a joke. I never expected to encounter them again. If they're up here in the Commonwealth, it's because something has forced them to leave the Capital Wasteland, and while they might be great at fighting in tunnels, they're totally lost in the open."

"So check caves, tunnels, and the T, then?"

"Yeah, if you want to spend the rest of your life looking for them. Best way to find the Tunnel Snakes is bait them out. Butch in particular. And I know just how to do it, too. It's gonna sound crazy, but trust me. He won't be able to resist."

Nora leaned back, grinning, "I'm listening."

"Well, you been needing a haircut? Because like I said. Damn good haircuts."

* * *

"Piper, I can't air this."

"Come on, Travis, you've aired my stories before!"

"Yeah, but I've never aired a hit piece before, either. I'm not your editor, Piper, but none of this is substantiated. It's all speculation, and if I air this, the Brotherhood's never going to talk to me again, and they're the reason I can reach the Woo."

"Ugh! Fine!"

"Piper, before you storm out-"

" _What."_

"Do you want to…Talk? Like, as a friend? Because it seems to me that you need one right now."

Piper scowled at Travis, considering his offer, and slid into one of his chairs. He offered her a Nuka-Cola, which she took, and chugged.

"You're on a _rampage,_ Piper, writing about everything that ruffles your feathers. Don't get me wrong, people love being informed, and you're a great read when you're angry, but you're angry _all the time,_ and it's really showing."

"Have I been that transparent?"

"Might as well be your main headline: Local Reporter Pissed Off At World."

She snorted a laugh, "Yeah, I've been pretty on edge."

"Come on, Piper, you _saved_ the world. You've got so much to be proud of! This is about Nat, isn't it?"

She frowned, "What did you hear?"

"Well, your sister decides she doesn't want to be a reporter anymore, and goes off to be a Squire with the Brotherhood. When I heard about it, I thought you'd be thrilled, I mean, she's being taught by Nora, she's with the brightest minds in the world. She's safe, she's being fed, and taught how to take care of herself."

"She joined a _cult!_ "

"You're _in_ a cult! So is Nora! You both joined the Children of Atom!"

"That's different, that was infiltration. We were tricking them; the Children of Atom are dangerous maniacs that need to be stopped. The Brotherhood is, too."

"The difference is that the Brotherhood has Power Armor, and the Children don't. And unlike the Children, the Brotherhood actually do good for others. They've done good for me. They can do good for you, too, and for Nat."

"Thanks for the Nuka Cola," Piper rolled her eyes, standing.

"All right, all right, I'll stop evangelizing. Think of it this way: Of all the things Nora has done, she's usually made the right decision. She's not someone that lets herself be led. She does things her way, and she bowls everyone else over that doesn't go along with it. Some people get mad, but she's usually right anyway. Am I wrong?"

"No."

"So how is Nora being part of the Brotherhood any different from her leading the Minutemen? Or sitting on the Diamond City Council? Or anything else she has ever done? She didn't join a cult, she joined the largest army on the East Coast, not to destroy it, but to lead it in a way she saw fit. The Brotherhood didn't recruit her, she recruited them!"

Piper glared at him, but didn't interrupt.

"And Nora would not have taken in your sister without making damn sure that Nat was taken care of-hold on," he turned to his station and flicked on the microphone, "That was 'Maybe' by the Ink Spots. To those familiar with the history of the Institute War, you might know the name of a particular soldier who fought on the frontlines. With little more than his wits and his rifle, he went from a mercenary running in Goodneighbor to one of the greatest heroes of the war. Well, he had to go back to the Capital Wasteland to take care of someone, but he's back, folks, with his little boy. Well, I've been saving this one for you, a new record, sent up from Three-Dog at Galaxy News Radio. When I heard it, I thought of you. Welcome back to the Commonwealth, MacCready."

Travis slid in a holotope and a new song played, 'Ain't Seen Nothin' Like You' by the Four Freshmen.

"Where was I? Nat. Nora allowed Nat to become a Squire because she wanted to make sure her friend's little sister was not only the best Sister in the Brotherhood, but she was taught right. So that the people you've been writing about don't get to her, that Nat become the kind of Knight in Shining Armor that you'd be proud of. That's all Nora wants, and that's all Nat wants."

Piper sighed, "When did you get so sanguine and wise?"

"I shot someone. It was pretty enlightening."

"You're a stinker."

"I think that's the lake."

"No way."

"Listen, Piper. Take my advice: Get laid, then contact Nora directly. Don't let things come around. Go out and make it happen, reach out to Nat and just…Be her big sister again. Stop being mad at her. At Nora. At yourself. If you don't, you'll end up destroying yourself, and everything you've built. They don't want that. Neither do I. You bring me the best news articles," he picked up the transcript she'd written for him, "Usually, anyway."

She snatched it, "All right. Well, I've got another piece for you, then."

"Yeah?"

"You ever heard of a gang called the Tunnel Snakes?"


	5. Strange Siblings

"You do realize, Sentinel, that our primary duty as members of the Brotherhood of Steel is to acquire technology, and our main weapon is our Power Armor, right?" Brandis rubbed his eye.

"Yes, but the Atom Cats have restored or even built their Power Armor themselves. It's their private property, the Minutemen don't even make a claim to their suits. And while, yes, the Brotherhood's primary goal is the collection and development of technology, but the whole reason we justify our presence in the Commonwealth is the protection and betterment of the people. The Atom Cats share those same goals; they just have a slightly different priority," Nora explained.

"They're a danger to-"

"Brandis, have you visited the Atom Cats? Have you been to their compound? They build Power Armor out of scrap cars. The Brotherhood can barely do that. And they aren't a threat to anyone that we aren't already fighting. In fact, they're the ones vying for a coordinated attack on the Gunners."

"Nora, how many Power Armor suits do you own?"

"I have Four. My Minutemen General's Armor, my X-01, and my Brotherhood Armor. And my Atom Cats armor, which they gave me."

"After all we've been through together, you're going to outright lie to me like that, Nora? I've _seen_ your collection of Power Armor. It's impressive, it really is. Our count was over a _dozen_ suits that you own or operate. You've picked the Commonwealth clean, and we're trying to get more suits. The Atom Cats have them."

"That's-" Nora grunted, "That's half-true. I collected over a dozen suits during the war, yeah, but every one of them either has an official, personal function-The General's Armor is for Minuteman functions and operations, my Brotherhood Armor is for Brotherhood functions and operations, the X-01 is for extreme hazardous environments, and the Atom Cats armor is for public relations and operations in the southern Commonwealth."

"And what about the Tesla suit? Those gaudy Vim suits? The three or four suits cobbled together from parts collected by Raiders? We know you have at least one other T-45 suit besides that. What about all of those, Nora?"

"I gave them to the Minutemen! They're for patrolling and saving people, _including members of the Brotherhood of Steel._ "

"Suits that the Brotherhood could make use of far more effectively than the Minutemen can."

"We can't have the Brotherhood confiscate every suit of Power Armor in the Commonwealth, Brandis. There would be a _revolt._ I gave those suits to trusted and proven officers. If the Brotherhood went around taking them from people, the Commonwealth wouldn't trust the Brotherhood."

"Then donate them to the Brotherhood, and we won't have to confiscate them."

Nora sighed, leaning back in her chair, and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"I don't see why this is such an uphill battle, Nora," he pleaded, "I know you have responsibilities outside of the Brotherhood, but this is the sort of thing that makes people think you're taking advantage of us, that you're just siphoning resources from us."

"But I'm _not!_ I didn't take those suits from the Brotherhood! I built them, salvaged them, upgraded them myself! _They were never property of the Brotherhood._ "

"Until you, a member of the Brotherhood, took possession of them."

"I wasn't aware that my private property was forfeit when I signed up. Not to mention the fact that, as a Sentinel, I am outside of your immediate command structure."

"That's true. You seem intent on developing your own resources for your personal use. Perhaps I should focus our resources on ourselves, since you seem so capable of handling things yourself," Brandis growled. Nora shook her head.

"You're right, I'm sorry, Brandis. That's not how this works, and it shouldn't be how this works. The Brotherhood needs more suits, I understand. But so does the Commonwealth. They need heavy weapons and heavy assault platforms that the Power Armor provides. So, please, listen to my offer."

"Okay."

"The Minutemen keep their suits. However, those units will have members of the Brotherhood of Steel directly attached to them-Field Scribes, specifically, who can speak on behalf of the Brotherhood, and send them to tech retrieval. Those Minutemen who wear the suits will be given the opportunity to join the Brotherhood of Steel, and undergo our training and orientation."

Brandis leaned back, now fixed. Nora continued, "This way, the Brotherhood not only can point where the suits need to go, but will expand their numbers, and be able to collect technology, without sending Brothers and Sisters to do it. The Minutemen will do it with us. Now, they can build their own Laser Muskets, but Laser Muskets only get you so far. They'll need heavier weapons, as well, which the Minutemen will _buy_ either from other sources, or, preferably, from the Brotherhood. The point is, Brandis, is that the Brotherhood can't go around being bullies, taking things from people. The Brotherhood needs to build up trust, and build bonds with the people. The Minutemen are the strongest connection you have to the Commonwealth, and we should be integrating with each other, not driving ourselves apart. Am I making sense?'

He nodded, "I see your point. I do like this. We can spread ourselves further without spreading ourselves thin. But what about the Atom Cats?"

"They're Minutemen, too. But their suits are their property. They keep their suits."

"Nora, I have orders to ensure that the Atom Cats' technology doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

"Was that the phrasing?"

Brandis scowled, "You're not using the wording to twist my orders around, Nora."

"Was that the phrasing?"

"…Yes."

"Okay. The Atom Cats, being trusted and integrated members of the Minutemen, are trusted hands when it comes to their technology, and so no action needs to be taken against them, except to further ensure their operations and personal security."

"I have to do _something,_ Nora."

"Furthermore," she held up a finger, "The Atom Cats will gladly sell, at discount rates, Power Armor modifications and armor pieces to the Brotherhood of Steel, so that they can continue to operate, expand, and pursue their passions of technology, protecting the people, and advancing culture."

"So…They sell us parts, and we leave them alone?"

"I didn't say leave them alone. I think you should _recruit_ them, but you'll have to send your best poet to do it. They'll hold the Brotherhood to a high standard, but so long as you meet it? They'll overlook the fact you're a bunch of squares that are cramping their style, if it means doing the right thing. The Atom Cats are heroes, you don't want to make enemies of heroes of the Commonwealth. You might not make them all Paladins, but if you can get someone inducted into the Atom Cats? They'll stick with us."

"Hmm. That's…A strange reversal."

"How do you mean?"

"We're so used to recruiting wastelanders into the Brotherhood, making outsiders one of us. But what you're proposing, is making members of the Brotherhood members of outside groups."

"And it will make the Brotherhood a beloved group. We'll be able to communicate with a huge diversity of cultures, even just within the Commonwealth. That's how I was able to gather together so many people to fight the Institute. I didn't make others follow me, I made my way in, and became one of them. That's the problem the Brotherhood has: We're never one of them. How is it giving away technology to others, if those others are also our Brothers and Sisters? Trust goes both ways."

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Talking everyone else into doing things your way."

"No, I'm talking you into doing things _our_ way."

"Which just so happens to be your way."

"I mean it does have that going for it."

Brandis groaned, "Fine. I'll start organizing this…Whole thing."

"Why don't you focus on your end, and I'll get the Minutemen prepped? I'll have those units assemble at the Castle, where they can meet and greet their new members. Remember, these Scribes will have to _become_ Minutemen in their own way. And, seriously, _find your best poet._ "

* * *

Sentinel," Squire Nat stood at attention after Nora left her meeting with Brandis. Nora was like a big sister to Nat in a lot of ways, so it was still weird to see Nat saluting her. Still, Nora returned it.

"Squire."

"Sentinel, someone is here to see you-see us, actually. A civilian has requested our presence."

"Is it Piper?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"She's your sister, not a Super Mutant, Nat."

"Yes, ma'am."

The front terminal of the Airport had been blasted away and exposed over the years, but now it had become a trading hub between the Brotherhood and the locals. The Brotherhood traded parts, junk, and components for things like food and fresh water. It was also used as a sort of unofficial embassy, where members of the Brotherhood could freely fraternize with the people of the Commonwealth. Whenever Nora was here, so were the Minutemen.

Piper was at the bar, drinking a Nuka-Bourbon, a very simple but respected mix drink consisting of a Nuka Cola and bourbon. The Bartender made a motioning nod towards Nora and Nat for Piper, who left her caps on the table and stood, walking to them. They were standing at the entrance, and the two of them shuffled to an alleyway where they could get some privacy.

"Hey, Big Blue," Piper said sheepishly.

"Hey Piper. Good to see you again," Nora smiled, speaking as if it had only been a week since they'd last seen each other, "When did I become 'Big Blue'?"

"Well, when you started running the Commonwealth."

"I'm not 'running' the Commonwealth, I'm running the Minutemen," Nora insisted.

"And in doing so, you've dragged the Brotherhood, the Atom Cats, the Railroad, dozens of communities, and stretching out into other regions. Face it, Big Blue, you're big news. Nobody's said it, but it's true: You're our leader, even if we didn't pick you."

"You make me sound like a dictator."

"Well you are, aren't you? You aren't dragging people out of their houses, but people take whatever you have to say as being law. Eventually, people are going to do it without thinking of why it's a good idea to listen to you. Everyone is affected by the decisions you make."

"I know that."

"The question is, do you appreciate what it does? Not just the things you do. The Minutemen are doing a lot of great work, pushing out the Raiders and Super Mutants. The Brotherhood is…Helping, but their actions are excused by you being our leader. Eventually, it isn't going to be enough, and you won't be able to control it. That's why I've been so critical of the Brotherhood. Someone needs to keep them in check, because if they aren't, we're going to lose the progress we've made."

"I appreciate that, Piper. It must have been hard for you to be doing that, knowing you may be hurting my position within the Brotherhood," Nora assured her, and Piper smiled. Nat frowned.

"What a load of crap!" Nat huffed, "Two years ago the Sentinel was the love of your life, and the moment she's too busy for you, you're writing all this mean stuff about the Brotherhood!"

"I think you remember your little sister, Nat," Nora said, her tone remaining the same reassuring serene.

"…Yeah, I know, Nat. I have a lot of reasons for writing mean things about the Brotherhood. I'm not going to lie and not say you're one of them. And, you're right. I do miss Nora. A part of me wishes we could have all settled down in Diamond City and run the paper, the three of us. That…Would have been nice," Piper admitted, "But what I can do is protect you two, with what I know. And what I know is running the paper. What I know is being critical of those in power, even if those people are those that I love the most. If you ever do something that's totally unacceptable, Nora, you'll know, because I'll write about you. You haven't been doing anything wrong, even if you weren't chosen. Heck, if we had elections today you'd win anyway. Truth be told, I'm scared. I'm scared that the Brotherhood will force you to do something wrong, I'm scared that they'll turn my little sister into something she isn't."

The three were silent. Nora bit her lip; settling down and working on the paper with Piper and raising Nat, that would have been a good life. They might have even been able to pull off some of the same things, teaching people how to run the Commonwealth through articles. Nora knew that she was important; she'd be a fool not to. But the idea that she was the Commonwealth government, Legislative, Executive, and Judicial? All in one? Piper was right, and that disturbed her.

"Well, it's embarrassing me to the other Squires," Nat insisted, "That you're writing all this mean stuff."

"Aw, come on, Nat. I'm your big sister. Embarrassing you in front of your friends if what big sisters do."

"She has a point, Nat," Nora agreed. Nat grumbled, conceding the point.

"What I don't want to happen, more than anything, though? Is lose either of you. You two are my world. And the Brotherhood is threatening to take both of you from me, I don't want that to happen. I know you've picked a course for yourself, Nat. But it's going to take you away, whether they send you somewhere far off and exotic, or turn you into an Armor-clanking Sister of Steel, leaving nothing for me," Piper said. Nat frowned, not looking at either of them.

"It's important, Nat, as members of the Brotherhood, that we have connections with the people we are protecting. Otherwise they will never see us as someone they can trust. Becoming a Sister does not mean you lose your sister. The Brotherhood needs to learn that. It's one of the reasons I sponsored you. Not to get you away from the Commonwealth, but because you're so intimately tied with it. That, and I didn't want someone else screwing up your training," Nora explained, "Next time Piper writes an article, I want you to really read it, and think about what it is she's saying. The greatest thing you can do for someone you love is challenge them to be better. That's what Piper is trying to do for us."

"Okay," Nat agreed, and she hugged Piper. The sisters cried into each other's hair for a few minutes, mumbling something Nora couldn't make out, but certainly understood. She stood guard at the alleyway, making sure nobody snooped.

"Let's not be strangers, okay? Let's write letters, and I'll have plenty of reasons to come to the Airport," Piper insisted.

"I will," Nat promised.

"Now, I need to speak with Piper about a few things. Save the Commonwealth stuff, and you're not old enough to do that yet," Nora said.

"I am, too!" the girl insisted.

"Well, let's hope we don't have to find out. I want you to read Piper's latest article, and I want you to find out who she is talking about in the Brotherhood. I want their _names,_ okay?" Nora instructed.

Nat saluted, "Yes, ma'am!" and the girl left, waving another good-bye to her sister.

"Sending my sister to work as your spy?" Piper asked.

"What? I sponsored her to groom her. Just because I want to groom her to be my eyes and ears doesn't change that. She's got your knack for snooping and getting into trouble. And right now I need snooping. I heard Travis's report, talking about the Tunnel Snakes?"

"Yeah, I was down at Somerville Place, who have agreed to host Brotherhood Extermination teams. They mentioned how a new gang has holed up in Vault 95 and have been fixing the place up. The people were worried about the Tunnel Snakes at first, but they've just sort of become locals. They like to hang at the First Glow and cut people's hair. I went to go speak with them, and when I was in the Vault, a squad of Gunners came in and tried clearing them out. You should have seen it, the Tunnel Snakes, they all just vanished. I insisted that I could help, but they locked me in the Overseer's office, and…" Piper shook her head, "Blue, these guys are dangerous. We've fought Gunners before. We've wiped out most of their leadership, but they're still a force to be reckoned with. The Tunnel Snakes have some kind of Stealth Boy technology. I didn't tell Travis that part, but it's true. The Gunners didn't know what they were dealing with. The Tunnel Snakes would just disappear, then reappear by jabbing a knife in the Gunners."

"That's some serious tech. I've seen it before, but it's not easy to replicate," Nora said, "It certainly explains how one of them got into my office without being notice."

"Wait, _what?_ "

"A Tunnel Snake with the initials 'LW' snuck into my office and stabbed a note into my desk. They left their knife, which is how I know it was one of them."

"That must have been terrifying, Blue, I'm sorry."

"I wasn't there. Embarrassed the hell out of my office guard. I had to put her in Advance Training so she'll keep her mouth shut about the note. It was a warning about Elder Maxson, said he was going to betray me. Needless to say, I'm looking into the situation," Nora explained.

"Well, if they wanted to kill you, the Tunnel Snakes could get pretty close," Piper said, "Trust me. They might not be the Knights and Shining Armor, or the Marauding Psychopath, but they scare the hell out of me in their own way, Blue. Only people I've seen move or go invisible like that are Coursers."

"Of course the bigger question that needs to be answered, Piper, is who is LW, and why did the Tunnel Snakes leave the Capital Wasteland?"


	6. New Guys

_Author Note: I don't like including these, but I just wanted to thank everyone who's left a comment or review. I really appreciate that kind of feedback, so, please, keep commenting!_

"Present…ARMS!"

The Trainees all held up their Laser Muskets along their shoulders, standing straight and at attention.

"Ready…ARMS!"

They lowered their Laser Muskets in unison, aiming down and pointed down, but unpowered.

"Left shoulder…ARMS!"

The trainees put their muskets on their left shoulders.

"Ready…ARMS!"

They aimed again.

"Load…ARMS!"

They all cranked their muskets twice, again in unison.

"Present...ARMS!"

They went back to the 'Present' stance, their weapons glowing red. Sergeant Sutton walked along the line, inspecting the trainees' uniforms and gear. He stopped in front of one of them, and removed the trainee's hat, which had been pinned up. Sutton took out the pin, then placed it back on the trainee's head. The trainee quivered, but did not budge or speak or even squeak.

"Is there a Bloatfly larvae in your uniform, Private Dell?" Sutton asked.

"No Sergeant Sutton!" the private yelled.

"Then why are you shaking like you've got worms nibbling at your nethers, Private Dell?"

"Eagerness to serve at a minute's notice, Sergeant Sutton!"

"It must be, given how you are trembling like a Deathclaw Hatchday Party, and why you were out of uniform in my firing line. Are you ill, Private Dell?"

"No, Sergeant!"

"Then why was your hat out of order?"

"Imitation of Colonel Garvey's hat, Sergeant Sutton!"

"Colonel Garvey is a high-ranking officer who is capable of establishing uniform codes for himself and those units under his command, Private. Have you been promoted to Major?"

"No, Sergeant Sutton!"

"Have you been promoted to Colonel?"

"No, Sergeant Sutton!"

"Have you been promoted to General?"

"No, Sergeant Sutton!"

"Are you the Commander in Chief of the Minutemen, so elected or elevated by the people of this land?"

"No, Sergeant Sutton!"

"Then do not let me see you out of uniform again in my firing line! Private Dell! Present…Arms!"

Dell went into the 'Present' stance.

"Power Down…Arms!"

Dell pulled a switch, and the laser musket stopped glowing, recharging the fusion cell with the unreleased energy.

"Order…Arms!"

Dell lowered the rifle until it was at his feet, parallel with his legs.

"Port…Arms!"

Dell held his rifle 'Port' style, holding it with both hands pointed to his left shoulder.

"Load…Arms!"

Dell cranked his Laser Musket twice, and it glowed again.

"Ready…Arms!"

Dell held his rifle at 'Ready,' downrange but lowered.

"Aim! C-Four!"

Dell aimed his rifle.

"Fire!"

BWOOM! The Laser Musket ignited, creaking a puff of smoke and a red streak of light. One of the target rocks, column C row four, had another chunk taken out of it.

"Private Dell, your eagerness does not seem to have impeded your aim. See to it that it does not disturb my firing line again."

"Ooah, Sergeant Sutton!"

"Private Dell! Load…Arms! Present…Arms!"

Dell returned to the same stance as the others, loaded and presented. Sutton continued, "Ready…Arms! Aim…Arms!"

The unit picked out their targets; they were arranged and trained to know which ones were theirs, depending on their place in the firing line, so no two recruits would fire on the same target.

"Fire!"

Twenty Laser Muskets fired at the same time, blowing chunks off of the rocks. A couple of them missed, but most of them were struck.

"Port…Arms! Load…Arms! Ready….Arms! Aim…Arms! Ready-"

A single Laser Musket fired, striking its rock. Another recruit, jumped as soon as she realized her mistake.

"Power down arms! Order arms! Private Oswald, _what_ in the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

"Sergeant Sutton! How are my latest line of recruits doing?" Nora approached, with Dogmeat at her heels and Codsworth floating just behind.

"Officer present! Atten-TION! About…Face! Hand…Salute!" Sutton ordered, and the trainees all responded in kind, with their weapons at their side and saluting the General. She returned the salute.

"At ease, trainees," she ordered.

"This particular unit is underperforming today, ma'am."

"Oh? What happened?"

"One out of uniform, and one discharged their weapon out of order, ma'am."

"Where did they fire?" Nora pulled out a spyglass-despite the end of the firing range being only thirty feet away-and looked down.

"D-Three, ma'am."

"Oh dear. We seem to have had a civilian casualty. That's little Jimmy, if I'm not mistaken, Sergeant?"

Sgt. Sutton's eyes lit up, "I think it is, General."

"Codsworth? I think you had better go inform little Jimmy's mother that her boy was hit."

"M'am?" Codsworth asked.

"Cait," she told him quietly.

"Oh! Yes! At once, m'am!" Codsworth hovered off to retrieve her.

"I think we should go retrieve the body, Sergeant."

"Yes, Ma'am. Private Dell, retrieve the civilian's corpse."

"Ooah, Sergeant Sutton," Private Dell stepped out of the line, and slung his rifle, hopping over the fence into the firing range, and he tried picking up the rock, only to find it was much heavier than expected, and he struggled to get it moved. He tried rolling the rock.

"Have some respect for the dead, Private Dell! It's a ten-year-old boy, you can at least carry the body to his mother!" Sgt. Sutton called out.

"Ooah, Sergeant Sutton!" Dell replied, grunting as he finally lifted the rock and waddled it over to the line, where Codsworth was arriving with Cait.

"Wot's this about, Codsworth?"

"Ma'am, is this your son, Jimmy?" Nora asked, motioning to the rock. Cait rolled her eyes at Nora, but immediately set into a blood-curling howl of,

"JIMMY, NO!"

She tore the rock from Dell with little effort, shoving him onto his ass and she fell to her knees, bawling and howling about her 'boy.'

"He was the only thing I had left ta remember his pa by! He was a good boy, didn't hurt no one, an' ye shot 'im ye bastard! Ya shot me only boy!" she bawled, "I'll see ye dead fer this! I swear it!"

"I'm so sorry for your loss, ma'am. It was a training accident, you see," Nora said, and Cait continued to bawl over the rock while the trainees looked on.

"The least we can do is see that he gets a proper burial, General," Sutton offered.

"You're right. We'll give little Jimmy a proper grave. The full six feet," Nora agreed.

"Private Oswald, this was your mistake. Pick out a proper spot for Jimmy, and your platoon will make the arrangements for the funeral before sundown. Dress uniforms. Dismissed," Sgt. Sutton ordered, with grumbles of 'Ooah' in reply. As soon as the trainees dispersed, Cait stopped her mourning of Jimmy and stood.

"So was there an actual reason ye came out all this way, General, or are ya just here ta see my award-winnin' actin' skills?" Cait asked. They were in Fairline Hill, once a Settlement, abandoned, and then retaken by the Minutemen after the Institute War, and repurposed to train new Minutemen. It was also an effective staging area for the Minutemen, as it was on the border of areas still patrolled or controlled by the Gunners, heightening the sense of danger and urgency among the trainees.

"I'm always eager to see your take on the Bard, Cait," Nora teased. Cait spat.

"Two-timin', story-stealin' lazy bastard he was," she declared.

"Amen," Nora said, "Actually, I was hoping to get your help with something, but I wanted to make sure you didn't need a babysitter for your little man."

"Aw, Bill'll be fine, he's got his trainees to play with, and little Enda's basically feedin' himself these days, barely needs my teat. It's gonna be tough when he grows up, he'll be tearin' up the commonwealth before we know it," Cait insisted.

"Even so, I thought I would offer Codsworth for you to borrow if you're willing to help. He loves babies, he was great with-" Nora paused, having almost said the name, "He was great with my son."

"I am programmed with hundreds of different nanny protocols, to adhere to nearly any conceivable style of parenting, not to mention extensive cognitive and combative modifications, so your family with be safe with me, Mister and Missus Cait!"

"That's greatly appreciated, General," Sgt. Sutton said.

"What say you, Cait? Up for another romp into the wasteland?" Nora asked.

"I'm always up fer getting' into a bit 'o trouble, an' with Codsworth around, I don't have to worry about Bill or Enda getting' eatin' by Yao Guai while I'm away. What nest of Deathclaws are we gonna go divin' inta this time?"

"Sergeant, perhaps you should inspect the funeral arrangements?" Nora 'suggested' to Cait's husband.

"Excellent suggestion, General," Sgt. Sutton said, and he went off to yell at the trainees some more.

"All right, now I'm really curious as to why you can't say this in front of me husband."

"This is one of those times where my being both a Paladin of the Brotherhood and the Minutemen General is an inconvenience, and I can't have any scuttlebutt, at all. He's not even the first family member of a friend I've dismissed when discussing this. I had to do the same thing with Nat, and with Duncan, RJ's son. This could be…" Nora shifted, "This could be comparable to the Institute."

"That bad, eh? An' ye need _my_ help?" she asked.

"Well, we're going back to Vault 95. I brought you and Dogmeat, so you know it better than anyone else from the team."

"As I recall ye didn't have much need for my services when ye were choppin' up Synths left an' right. That was more Deacon, Danse, and Dogmeat's alley."

"Yeah, but _you_ were at the Battle of Warwick. _You_ led the Minutemen against the Synth attack, and you helped Bill uncover Roger as a Synth. Don't sell yourself short, we would have lost _everyone_ in that battle without you. And I need you now."

"Yeah, I was pretty fierce in that fight, wasn't I?"

"I wish I had been there."

"You were busy, I recall, defendin' the Castle. Now that woulda been a sight ta see."

"It would have. Anyway, we're looking for someone in the new gang that holed up in there, and we're going to start with their leader, a man named Butch DeLoria. One of the Tunnel Snakes knows something about the Brotherhood, and Butch will know who it was."

"Right, then, what are we waiting for? Let's get goin'!"

"We can't. We have a funeral to go to, Cait!"

* * *

"I'm sorry! I just heard him talk, I was expecting him to say 'Fire' and I just pulled the trigger when he spoke!" Private Claire Oswald insisted.

"I was standing in front of the funeral, and you were barely containing yourself from laughing the entire time!" Private DuBois accused her.

"That's because the mother was standing behind me, telling dick jokes the entire time!" she said, and half of the platoon laughed, the other groaned, "She did! She kept talking about how big her son's dick was in my ear, said she kept catching him masturbating behind a tree."

"Not to mention the General standing there, sobbing like someone had shot her dog," Private Burnett added, "It was all pretty absurd."

"Yeah, that's another thing, do you know who Cait is?" DuBois asked.

"She teaches people how to fight for a fee."

"And Drill Sergeant Sutton _is her husband,_ " DuBois pointed out. Claire groaned.

"I am in so deep…"

"Six feet," Julio, a Ghoul recruit, pointed out, and led the others in laughter.

"And when stuff like this happens, we all get in trouble," DuBois added. Claire pushed him.

"Shut up, you aren't our Platoon leader. Quit kissing the Sergeant's ass, and march in line like the rest of us," she told him.

"Don't touch me," he warned.

"Woah, hey now, let's back off. It was a hard day, a couple people screwed up. That's what we're here to do, is screw up," Julio stood between them, "We're a team, we gotta act like one."

"Private Flakes!" Sgt. Sutton bellowed, entering their barracks, and everyone scrambled to their bunks, standing at attention. Sutton thumped up to Julio 'Flakes.' In the absence of a proper last name, nicknames were given instead. Julio, being a Ghoul, was honored with the name 'Flakes.' He didn't seem to mind the name, but he preferred being called Julio.

"It is clear that your unit has gotten to a point where their _eagerness_ is outstripping their _discipline._ I have seen enough to know that they require leadership from the inside. _You_ are now Platoon Leader, am I understood?"

"Yes, Sergeant Sutton!"

"Outstanding. We have lights-out in twenty minutes, when I get back in nineteen, everyone had better be tucked in and sucking their thumbs, am I understood?"

"Yes, Sergeant Sutton!"

"Outstanding!" Sutton said, and he left. As soon as he was gone, Private Dell said,

"God damn, he's intense."

"He's gotta be," Julio said.

"My dad knew a Drill Sergeant," Private Burnett said, "They're supposed to be like that. And with what we're training to do, we gotta have even more of it, you know? I figure, he might be going easy on us. Not that I'm complaining."

"Not so much after today," Oswald lamented, "I swear, from now on, I'm only shooting on time."

"No more hat mods for me, either," Dell agreed.

"Yeah, seriously, what the hell was that about?" Julio asked.

"Well, the Colonel does it, I thought it was OK! Like, a personal preference thing," Dell explained.

"Evidently not," DuBois remarked.

"So how did your dad now a Drill Sergeant?" Claire asked Burnett, "Was the guy a ghoul?"

"Uh, no, my dad was part of an army. They had Drill Sergeants. My dad…Did a lot of bad things."

"Was he a Gunner?"

"No, but something like that. His unit got wiped out, so he took my mom up north to Champli, where I grew up. When the Minutemen started recruiting, I signed up. I wasn't really sure what my dad would say, but he was supportive," Burnett said.

"I knew a couple of Soldiers after I became a Ghoul," Julio said, "We lived in a T station together. We were supposed to just be living our lives, but really I think we were all just sort of waiting to go Feral. They were tough sons of bitches, but melancholy as all hell. Eventually I got sick of it and followed one of the recruitment beacons the Minutemen set up at Red Rocket."

"So you must have been at the Battle of Concord, right? Against the Institute?" Private Heinlein asked.

"Yeah, just before the Minutemen attacked the Institute, the Institute attacked first. They struck the Castle first, but they hit other communities, too, like Warwick, Hangman's Alley, Greygarden. They also teleported into Concord, and the Minutemen from the areas around it, like Red Rocket, Sanctuary, and Starlight, they all jumped to and ambushed them before they could cause any real damage," Julio explained, "Course, it wasn't just the Minutemen. The Railroad had snipers in the woods, picking off Coursers, and the Brotherhood provided aerial support and dropped Knights in the middle of it all. The real interesting part was when the Deathclaws came out to play."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Swear on what's left of my skin, a trio of Deathclaws crawled out of the bottom of Concord and started swiping at everything that moved. That's when we pressed the attack. Of course, by the end of the assault we had two pissed off Deathclaws to deal with, but we let the Brotherhood deal with them."

"That's crazy! How come you aren't a Minteman already after that?" DuBois asked.

"I was just an ammo runner. I brought guns and ammo to the frontline, and ran back, I didn't get to shoot more than a couple of Synths. It was crazy. We should prep for lights-out. We don't want to give Sarge more of a reason to be mad at us than we've already given him today. We've got ten minutes before Sarge gets back, I want everyone in bunk in nine. He'll probably have us marching through the Glowing Sea if we're not creful."


	7. Coolest Gangs in the Commonwealth

"So if we're headed to Vault 95, why are we going to the Atom Cats compound?" Cait asked. Nora had switched out of her General's outfit, and into her Atom Cat jacket.

"The Atom Cats and the Tunnel Snakes, from what I understand…Share similar values. I was hoping to arrange an introduction. Besides, I have to deliver something to them," Nora explained. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses, and approached the gate. Duke was standing guard.

"Zeke wants to talk," was all Duke said.

"Good. I was hoping to talk to him anyway," she headed in, headed straight for the garage. Zeke was drinking with Bluejay leaning against the bar. The founder and leader of the Atom Cats was usually a jovial man, always with a smile on his face. He was not smiling.

"Well if it ain't the High Paladin. You sure I gave you those colors? My memory's getting fuzzy these days," Zeke said.

"Come on, Zeke, she's done us solids. She's one of us," Bluejay reminded him.

"Is she? We thought you were cool, Jack, but now, I'm starting to wonder. We agreed to work with the Minutemen because they know what's up. But the Brotherhood? They've got no chill. Every time we see those Squares, they're telling us to hand over our plates, and you're one of them, so I've gotta know, what's the deal?" Zeke folded his arms.

"The deal is that they got orders from someone down south. Someone that's not here, in the Commonwealth. The Brotherhood, sure, they've got a stiff stick crammed up all the way in, but if you keep them honest, they'll keep straight. Don't worry, I might be a Sentinel of the Brotherhood, but I'll always got your back, Jack. I talked things over with the local Big Cat, Brandis, he's a friend. He just didn't know what we were all about, is all, and we struck a deal, but I gotta run it by you first," Nora said. Zeke took a drink, and leaned back a bit.

"I'm listening."

"The Brotherhood's not going to cramp us for our plates anymore. But they're gonna send their coolest cat down here, and they're gonna want to see what it takes to ride with us. They want to _be_ an Atom Cat. They're gonna be pretty square to start, so they gotta be taught how to chill first. The Brotherhood's gonna want to make friends."

"They'll have a lot to prove to be one of us. But if they can swing, we might just open up," Zeke conceded.

"Well, the Brotherhood still wants to be able to get new equipment. Mods and plates and frames, but they ain't gonna take it. In exchange for some of what they know, the Atom Cats give them a discount on equipment, so they can keep up their suits. They might drop one off once in a while for repairs. And once in a while, in addition to the Minutemen, they might want you to roll with them on a patrol. Ever been on a Vertibird? Man, that's one hell of a ride. Nothing more than you've already been doing."

"You know, you've got the smoothest tongue of any cat I've known. Let's hope the Brotherhood can be as cranked as you. And if any of them want a swinging paintjob other than silver and square, we'll be happy to show off their plates."

"Well, if you've got a few new designs, we'll certainly ask. Course, they'll probably want their emblem, big and white in the middle of their chest, whatever you make for 'em."

"I think we can work with that. Here to pick up your plates?"

"Yeah, but I wanted to ask a favor, too."

"Sure. If you've got our back, we've got yours."

"There are some new guys on the other side of the Commonwealth, the Tunnel Snakes, maybe you've heard of 'em?"

"The radio squawked about 'em. They seem like chill lizards."

"Yeah, well, I need to talk to their leader, and I figure I'd bring the coolest cats in the Commonwealth with, see how they roll, you dig?"

"I dig. Me, Rowdy and Johnny D will come with ya, and we'll get some of the MinuteJacks to cover for us while we're gone. Sound cool?"

"Cool. This is the sort of thing where I don't want word getting around about. If the wrong people know the details, a lot of people could get hurt. I know I'm stretching your trust here, but it's important."

"Well, consider us even, then. I'll radio in, and we'll suit up."

"I always liked the suit ye built fer me. All these spikes and plates, made me feel like I was bringin' my cage with me fer a fight. Still got it, too, in me basement. Just haven't had a reason to slip it on in the last coupla years. I'd've brought it with me, too, if I knew we were all gonna be suitin' up," Cait said.

"Dang, you can borrow one of ours, then, if you're rollin' with the Professor," Zeke said.

"Naw. Doubt it has enough barbed wire on it to suit my style."

"How about shark teeth painted on the chest?"

"That'll do."

"Woah, what's this? Awww, this ain't cool, this ain't cool at all," a Tunnel Snakes scrambled to his feet, holding up a laser rifle and pointed it at the Atom Cats as they approached the entrance.

"Yo, what's with the piece? We ain't here to squabble, we're here to chill," Zeke held up his hands. The Tunnel Snake looked between them. Nora and Cait kept their helmets on, while Rowdy, Johnny D, and Zeke showed their faces.

"Uh…Who are you guys?" the Tunnel Snake asked.

"We're the Atom Cats. I'm Zeke, the leader. This is Rowdy and Johnny D, the Professor, and, uh…Sharkbait."

Cait and Nora looked at each other, then back to the Tunnel Snake.

"We heard about the Snakes on the Radio, and we thought we'd come se the new guys for ourselves. Heard you've got it."

"Got what?" the Snake asked.

"Got it, you know. You're down, you're chill, you roll from Fat City to Coolsville."

"Yeah!...Uh…Tunnel Snakes Rule!"

"Yeah, Tunnel Snakes Rule!" Zeke agreed, "Heard your head Honcho was a guy named Butch. Will ya let us in?"

"Uh…" the Tunnel Snake looked around, then back into the Vault, "Hey, uh, Lacey? I-I got some guys in Power Armor here, they wanna talk to Butch."

"Power Armor? Is that what that clanking is?" a woman with a Tunnel Snake jacket appeared in the doorway to the Vault. She jumped at the sight of five Power Armored figures, "Damn! Scared the scales right offa me! We don't mean to be square about this, just, we had some nasty dudes swing around."

"We heard about that. You did good from what the squawk says," Rowdy said.

"Well, we took care of it, but we're a bit on edge. We ain't got the defenses all back up and running yet."

"What kind of defenses? Maybe we can help," Rowdy offered.

"Well, if Butch says it's OK, we could use the assist. Who…Who are you, anyway?" Lacey asked.

"We're the Atom Cats. We heard you moved in, we wanted to see for ourselves," Zeke explained.

"Gotcha. Heard about you guys in town, explains the Power Armor. Let me give Butch a call, see what he says," Lacey said, and she motioned them to enter. They stepped inside, but she held up her hand for them to stop once just inside the Vault. More Tunnel Snakes, each armed with some kind of energy weapon, stood guard, while she headed deeper into the Vault.

"So…I like your Power Armor," the guard said after a few moments.

"Thanks. I built it myself," Zeke said.

"Woah! Really? That's cool! We got a couple of tricks, too!" the guard beamed.

"Yo, Kenny! Shut up!" another one of the guards shouted at him.

"Like, uh…I didn't build this but I modded it, see?" Kenny held up his laser rifle for Zeke to observe.

"Never could get my head around laser weapons," Zeke admitted, "You got skill there, kid."

"Thanks," Kenny grinned.

"Oh! Oh! I _love_ that hair!" a voice rang out. A man with brown hair and a Tunnel Snake jacket over a Vault Suit approached, "Just…Love it!"

"Woah! Yours ain't so bad, either!" Zeke replied.

"Just…I gotta know, what do you use for a conditioner?"

"I make my own batch. Some Tato sauce, Mutfruit, Bloodleaf, and a little bit of Wonderglue. Use a bit of Abraxo to soften it up, works wonders," Zeke replied.

"You gotta teach me that recipe! I'm Butch. Longest Tunnel Snake in Vaults Ninety-Five, One-Oh-One, and Vaultton. You must be the Atom Cats. Welcome to our new digs! Ain't much, but it's home," Butch welcomed.

"Thanks. I'm Zeke, leader of the Atom Cats. This is Johnny D, Rowdy, the Professor, and Sharkbait."

"Sharkbait! I like it! Why don't you come on down, take a load off, chill!"

"Hey sounds good," Zeke led them in. Butch wiped his shoes on a rub laid out in front of the entrance, before headed down. The Atom Cats did the same, tearing up the carpet but cleaning their suits' boots.

"Aw man, now I gotta buy another one," Lacey lamented. Once inside the Vault, there were at least a hundred Tunnel Snakes down here, and they all seemed busy with something. The lights had been restored to working order, and the doors had been fixed up, though rust and dirt on the walls was still a problem.

"So what brings you up to the Commonwealth?" Johnny D asked.

"Overseer Amata sent us up here, actually. Old school buddy of mine, you know," Butch declared, "Said there was rumblings, and wanted us to check it out for her. Plenty of merchants, but nobody that'll give it to her straight, you dig?"

"I dig. So you work for Amata?"

"Naw, Tunnel Snakes work for the Tunnel Snakes. Amata's just a good friend, and she's got things handled down there in the Capital Wasteland. We still got Snakes in the Metro, keeping things clear," Butch explained.

"What's the Metro?" Rowdy asked.

"I think you guys call it…The T?" Butch said.

"Gotcha. What did you do in the Metro?"

"Cleared out bad guys. Merchants wanted to get to Rivet City and the Citadel to do some trading, so we escort them through. Super Mutants, Feral Ghouls, Radroaches, whatever gets in their way, we clean 'em out. It's hard work but it keeps the Raiders out of the city," Butch explained, "Now, we're the toughest gang in the Capital Wasteland. We thought we were gonna be the toughest up here, but then we met the Minutemen. And, uh, you guys, too. Power Armor, sheesh! Thought only the Brotherhood and the Enclave had that stuff."

"We put ours together ourselves, or pulled them from the wreckages," Zeke said.

"Right on. Why don't you leave your armors here in the Atrium, where we got room for 'em?" Butch motioned.

"I'll stay with them, keep an eye on things," Johnny D said.

"Sounds god, Jack," Zeke agreed, and they all opened their armors, stepping out. Nora was still wearing her Atom Cats jacket, and slipped a Trilby hat on her head. Butch led them upstairs, into the Overseer's office.

"Much more cheery than the last time we were here," Cait commented.

"Yeah. They must have someone who knows how to fix up a Vault," Nora replied, "Which makes sense."

"We came up through the Steel Road. We swung by the Pitt on our way here. I thought the Capital Wasteland was bad! But they're making it for themselves out there," Butch said, "Ever been?"

"Can't say I have," Zeke admitted.

"I'd say you should go, except it sucks. Nothing good to eat or drink. Everyone's working all the time. You might like it, though, they make steel. It's something else to see," Butch spoke as he opened the door to the Overseer's office, and they slipped inside. There was a refurbished couch in front of the Overseer's desk. The Tunnel Snake logo was painted over a faded Gunner skull on the wall.

"So what do you think of the Commonwealth so far?" Nora asked.

"These Minutemen seem to know what they're doing. We ain't got that down in the Capital Wasteland. The Brotherhood of Steel used to keep things straight, but they fell on hard times, then that Maxson guy took over. Pain in the ass you know, they tried taking all our guns once?" Butch shook his head.

"We've been dealing with something similar," Zeke said, "They tried taking our suits."

"Yeah? What'd you do?"

"We struck a deal. Not sure how it's gonna pan out, but I'm optimistic," Zeke admitted.

"Heh. Wish they'd struck a deal with us before roughing up some of my guys. We showed 'em who the toughest gang in the Capital Wasteland is, though, when we got Rivet City to blacklist their Quartermasters. They backed off after that."

"Dang! You got some chops, Butch!" Zeke grinned.

"Thanks. So what can I do for you guys?" Butch asked.

"Your lady upstairs mentioned you wanted to get your defenses running. Mind if I take a look, see if I can help you out?" Rowd asked. Butch shrugged.

"Go right ahead. Of course, if I got shot in the ass by one of my own turrets, I'll be bringing the issue to you," Butch warned.

"Hey, all my turrets aim for the upper center mass!" Rowdy insisted. Butch grinned.

"All right. Let's see what you Atom Cats got. What about you? Just lookin' to chew the fat?" Butch asked Zeke. Zeke looked to Nora, who leaned forward.

"I'm sure you and Zeke will have plenty to talk about, but I'm looking for a particular member of your gang, Butch. Someone with the initials LW?" she held up the switchblade. Butch frowned.

"LW? Ain't got anyone with those initials. Sorry. What happened? One of my gang try to shank you? What'd you do to piss 'em off?" he inquired. Nora gazed at Butch in the eyes. They were passive, disinterested, and his tone was flatter than it had been. Butch was lying.

"They left this knife and a note in my bedroom. Gave me a warning about someone I trust, and I tracked them back here. I figured that's what they wanted."

"Well you can ask around, see if any of the Snakes heard anything. I'd start with Lacey, she's the one that keeps track of where everyone is supposed to be. If anyone was anywhere they shouldn't have been, she's the one who would find out for you. In the meantime, Zeke, wanna see some of the styles I've been working on, if you show me how to make your conditioner?"

"You got it," Zeke beamed. Nora and Cait stood, and left the Overseer's office.

"He knows more than he's lettin' on," Cait noted.

"Yeah, I caught that, too. I think Butch was in on it. He-"

BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP!

A series of bullets rang out as a Tunnel Snake stood at the bottom of the stairs and opened fire on them. Nora took one in the chest and one in the arm, while Cait was grazed on the breast and leg, but their under armor coating caught the rounds.

"OH YE DONE MESSED UP, BOYO!" Cait bellowed, and she practically leaped down the stairs in a single bound. The Tunnel Snake tried getting another shot off, but she was on him before he could line up another shot, and it pinged off the ceiling. Cait held the Greaser by the shirt and struck in in the face, when she let out a yelp and, in a spasm, let him go; he held a shock baton in his offhand. Nor rulled out her silenced 10mm, a special little number known as the Deliverer, and fired back.

The man tossed some kind of dust towards Nora, and ignited the shock baton. The air turned to fire, throwing off her sight and blinding her a moment, allowing her attacker to get a new stance and line up a shot. Instead of standing there and waiting for her sight to return, she charged him, able to make out his figure through the blurry vision. She slammed into him, pinning the man against the wall, but Nora took the shock baton to her arm, and she spasmed.

Cait had recovered, however, and seized the offending weapon, slamming his hand against the wall until her dropped it. The man responded by trying to kick out her leg, but her stance was too solid. Nora backed off, allowing Cait to get a firmer grip on the man. She tripped him, and held him over her head, and tossed him at the railing and into the atrium.

Instead of falling onto the tables below, however, their attacker latched a grappling hook onto the railing, and instead dangled over the edge. The other Tunnel Snakes were pulling out weapons, and Johnny D was already getting suited up, when an announcement played over the PA.

"Let them fight. This is something they gotta do," Butch declared.

Cait was upon the man, who was hoisting himself back up, and she punched him in the face, sending him reeling and falling back down. She produced a knife and, with it in hand, she began cutting the rope holding him up. In response, he lowered the rope, allowing him to fall safely onto the atrium.

Nora had gone around and down the stairs, the Deliverer ready to pump the man full of rounds. She got a few into his chest, but the blood wasn't nearly enough to have been anything more than surface wounds; he had an under-armor coating, too. He responded by chucking a grenade at her, forcing Nora to turn the corner and avoid the explosion.

Cait rode what rope there was over the railing, and landed in front of the man, kicking him in the chest towards Johnny D, who grabbed him in a bear hug.

"Gotcha!" Johnny D declared. The Tunnel Snake, however, wasn't done, and latched a device on the power armor. There was a distorting pulse, and the Power Armor stopped, allowing the man to simply move Johnny's arms and escape.

He took two more rounds in the side, and grunted, prompting Nora to reload, while Cait tossed a cafeteria tray at him. He blocked the tray, then Cait's punch at his face. She head-butted him, and the sound of his nose breaking could be heard by Nora across the hall. Johnny's Power Armor returned to working order, and he stepped in, firing his weapon at the attacker.

Then the man vanished.

"Stealth Boy! He's got a Stealth Boy!" Nora announced, scanning the room for distortions of light. She found it too late, as her jabbed Cait in the side. She let out a cry, as this weapon was also electrified. This time, however the shock was enough to take her down, and she slumped over, unconscious.

Green bolts of plasma erupted from the distorted shape, tearing into Johnny's armor and melting the joints of his leg armor together. Nora fired, and blood spurted from the nearly invisible man, who replied with plasma bolts, forcing Nora into cover. He approached, and Nora pulled out a long, wavy blade, and swung, slicing open his arm. He let out a grunt, and she kicked him in the chest back into the atrium, and came at him with the weapon again. This time, he caught the weapon with his weapon, which hissed and oozed plasma, melting both the pistol and the blade, forcing them both to drop their weapons. She fired the Deliverer, now nearly point blank, into his chest, forcing him to the ground, bleeding.

"All right, I've seen enough," he said, "I give up."

"That's-That's a new one," Nora admitted.

"Well, I figured, if you're as good as they say, I wouldn't be able to kill you, anyway," he admitted, "I'm the one you're here to see."

"You're LW."

"Yep. The Lone Wanderer."


	8. In the Jailhouse Now

"The Lone Wanderer is dead," Nora declared, "He was killed in action."

"That's what the Brotherhood says, anyway," LW grunted as the Miss Nanny robot began patching up his chest. Zeke was standing guard, and Rowdy had as many Tunnel Snakes rounded up as she could in the Atrium. Johnny was attempting to fix his Power Armor's leg. Butch, LW, Nora, and Zeke were in the medical bay, with Cait still unconscious in the bed next to LW.

"Did you have facial reconstruction?" Nora asked.

"Yeah. I used to be a white guy. I feel…Pretty racist, actually," he admitted. He was dark-skinned with a broad nose and stubble hair, which was just starting to lighten into the first definitive grays.

"Made him look like an old friend of ours," Butch reached into his jacket, "Paul Hannon Junior. Gave him the same name, too, just said that he'd escaped from the Vault, too, instead of dying from Radroaches. Nobody questioned it."

Nora took the photo of Butch and two other guys when they were teenagers. There was their attacker-or Paul Hannon, rather-making faces at the camera. The boy in the middle, with a short, flat top haircut, held up a sign that said 'Tunnel Snakes Rule!' with the Tunnel Snake emblem on it.

"The original Tunnel Snakes. Me, Paul, and Wally. We were just kids, we weren't special. So we made ourselves special," Butch explained, "Then, there was the rebellion, I left, Doc's kid got kicked out, blah blah, blah, and suddenly, it's just me. Cuttin' hair in Rivet City. No Tunnel Snakes. Nothin'. Then Doc's kid comes back, the big god damn hero, all bloodied, all messed up. Tells me to 'Take him to Pinkerton' and passes out on my salon floor. Next thing I know, the Brotherhood of Steel comes in, askin' around if anything's happened, so I get him the hell out of there."

"Butch saved my life," The Lone Wanderer said, "We hid out in a Metro station until I was able to walk again. Butch found someone to change my face, and he used the only reference he had. We rebuilt the Tunnel Snakes as a militia to keep the Metro clear of dangers. I wasn't really sure what to do, except live on as Paul Hannon. I knew that Maxson was a monster, and he needed to be stopped, but what was I going to do with a street gang and a few plasma rifles?"

The Lone Wanderer looked Nora in the eyes, "I would need an army to take on Maxson."

"No," Nora said flatly, "Maxson is the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, he led a successful mission to fight the Institute. I couldn't have defeated the Institute without their help. He's given me no reason to distrust him, and I don't see why I should believe this is anything more than an elaborate assassination attempt by one of my enemies."

"I didn't think I would be able to convince you right away," The Lone Wanderer said, "But if you start looking, you'll start finding discrepancies in his story. How do you think a sixteen-year-old boy became Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel?"

"Same way a nineteen-year-old becomes a Paladin, or a Lawyer becomes a Sentinel, in a few months," she retorted.

"With the help of others," the Lone Wanderer agreed. Nora's heart sank.

"What are you saying?"

"Maxson's ascendance to Elder was a conspiracy by the rebel Outcasts to seize control of the Brotherhood of Steel. The story of the Brotherhood having bad leadership after the death of the Lyons, that was true. They had people who didn't know what direction to go. Eventually, I was set to become the next leader of the Brotherhood, because I was in good standing with the Outcasts, I was a war hero, and I was good at finding technology. I was…How old are we, Butch?"

"Uh…Thirty two?"

"So I was…Twenty five? Not too old, but still pretty young. The Brotherhood was ready to be led by someone young as it was. We were working on the Prydwen. Do you know why it's called the Prydwen?"

"It's after an Arthurian poem," Nora stated. The Lone Wanderer laughed.

"Yeah, Arthur would say it was named for himself, wouldn't he? That's half true. But I named it the Prydwen in honor of Sarah Lyons, who led a unit of the Brotherhood known as the Lyon's Pride. It was a silly way to honor the unit. I'd taken over the unit after Sarah was assassinated. I wanted the Brotherhood to remember the ideals that had taken them this far, that it wasn't technology that allowed us to accomplish this, but our use of it to protect the Capital Wasteland and the whole of America. I didn't get to be on it, when it launched. My own ship."

"I don't even know if you really are the Lone Wanderer. For all I know, you're pulling some kind of elaborate scam on me."

"You're friends with Robert MacCready, right?"

"You seem to know an awful lot about me."

"I did my research. I still have friends in the Brotherhood, even if I had to remake them. Getting your information was easy enough. After all, it was almost like looking in the mirror, in a lot of ways. Released from your vault, looking for a lost family member. Inordinate propensity for combat, idealistic to a fault, attracting some of the toughest and strangest companions in the Wasteland. Bringing hope and progress wherever you go. Hell, you found Madison! I haven't seen her in years, how is the old ice queen, anyway? Still as full of herself as ever? Anyway. If you want to verify that I am who I say I am, tell MacCready that his face looks like my butt."

"How about…You tell him yourself? Because you're under arrest," Nora informed him, "I'm taking you in for intruding on Minutemen secured grounds and three accounts of attempted murder."

"Or you could arrest me, and verify my identity some other way, that works, too. Um…Is the Railroad still around?"

Nora froze, "Why?"

"They can also verify some of the things. I was pretty secretive about some of it. Very little of it can be verified outside of the Railroad. If the Brotherhood hasn't wiped them out already."

"Well, either way, you're coming with me."

"Just so long as you don't turn me over to the Brotherhood of Steel, I won't resist. Just don't do anything to the Tunnel Snakes, they didn't know that any of this would happen."

"The Tunnel Snakes are to stay _here_ in Vault Ninety-Five. If you need anything from town, you can ask the Minutemen garrison I'm putting in front of your Vault to get it for you," she snarled. The Loen Wanderer shorted a laugh and muttered,

"All right, if you say so."

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" Zeke remarked.

"Given the circumstances I-" she paused, "I…"

Piper's words rang in Nora's head. _I'm scared that the Brotherhood will force you to do something wrong._ But was it wrong? The Tunnel Snakes were clearly a danger-

To who? In the same way that the Atom Cats were a danger to the Brotherhood.

"If it makes you feel better, Nora, we'll stay with the Tunnel Snakes, and make sure they don't get into any trouble. If I feel like they're a danger to anyone, we'll handle it," Zeke offered, "And if they're cool, we'll take them down to the bar, and swing. Cool?"

"Cool. I appreciate it, Zeke."

"Yeah. This whole situation seems pretty wild. Does that sound good to you, Butch?"

"I don't like it," Butch admitted.

"Think of it like an initiation. We'll party, cut some hair. If your friend's telling the truth, then we're all on the same side, ain't we?" Zeke pointed out. Everyone was silent for a moment.

"Yeah," Nora agreed, looking at the Lone Wanderer, "We would be, wouldn't we?"

"General?" Colonel Garvey entered Nora's office. She was slumped on the couch in the corner.

"Hey, Babe."

"You're drunk."

"Yeah. I'm drunk," she agreed.

"What the hell happened? You went to talk to Brandis three days ago, and you come back, and you've dedicated the entire jail for one prisoner," he demanded. She moved over on the couch, and motioned for him to set. He sat next to her, and she wrapped her arms around him.

"Right now, I just want to cuddle, mkay?" she insisted.

"General, you've got everyone spooked, what's going on?" he asked.

"Just cuddle," she insisted, nuzzling his neck. He conceded, and let her lean on him.

"You know, Vault 81 sent us a message. They said that the baby's healthy," he said.

"Mmm," was all she said.

"Do you want to lay down?"

"Mmm hmm."

He helped her to feet, took off her coat, and laid her down in the bed, making sure she was on her side, and he tucked her in.

"Get some rest, General, and we'll work it out in the morning."

"I love you, Preston," she mumbled.

"I love you, too, Nora," he kissed her on the cheek. She let out another warm 'Mmm,' and fell asleep. Preston walked down into the basement, where the holding cells were. The Minutemen had converted it into a jail for Minutemen who were arrested, or for enemies they were transferring or interrogating. It was an unfortunate reality that it was necessary, and it was thankfully empty most of the time; usually, it was just used to hold a few drunks now and again who cussed out their CO. On occasion, however, they got some psychopath or another they had to question before putting them down. The bars were solid; they'd locked Strong in there for a few days, and he wasn't able to get out.

"I want to talk to the prisoner myself."

"Yes, sir," the Minutemen guards shuffled to the other side of the room. Preston looked at the man in the cell, this LW who'd caused so much stress.

"Colonel Preston Garvey, Age Twenty-Five, born in Mattapan. Joined the Minutemen at age 17 in 2284. Watched his entire unit be slaughtered by the Gunners mercenaries in 2287. Shortly thereafter you became the last actively serving Minuteman in the Commonwealth. Came into contact with the woman who would later become the General of the Minutemen a few weeks later, and became her traveling companion, establishing, or re-establishing, settlements along the way. Currently listed as a Colonel, you are the leader of the specialist unit referred to as the Garvey Bunch, a group of Minutemen veterans who refused to give up on the ideals of the organization despite their dispersing. The unit largely performs training duties, but on the rare occasions they are called into combat, they are noted for their alertness and prioritizing of civilian lives. Recommended tactics for defeating the Garvey Bunch is baiting a trap using civilians, whether the danger for the civilians is real or a bluff, they will still prioritize their lives. Once the unit is separated from Minutemen supply lines, pick off the unit, starting with their upper leadership, and allow the rest of the unit to become demoralized. Should Colonel Garvey and his unit be killed, the effects would resonate through the rest of the Minutemen and either demoralize them into paralyzation, or harden their resolve and turn them into martyrs," the prisoner said.

"And what's your name?" Preston asked.

"Quentin," the prisoner replied.

"You seem to know a lot about me."

"You're a person to know about. That wasn't my file, by the way. That was a Brotherhood profile they had on you," the prisoner explained, sitting up on their cot.

"The Brotherhood has a file detailing how to kill me and the Bunch?"

"Do you find it to be a stretch?" the prisoner asked.

"Not really. Sounds like something they would do," Preston admitted.

"Well, that's because it is. It's one of those necessary evils. I was the one who started that tradition. I made files on possible threats to the Brotherhood, threats that included friends and allies. Hell, I wrote one about myself. I wrote one about people I'd killed. I dedicated my life to _murdering_ people the moment I stepped out of my Vault. Before I'd even spoken to anyone outside of the Vault, I'd wiped out a Raider gang that tried to mug me. I didn't even think about it. I just started shooting, and I kept going, and before I knew it, I'd wiped them all out. Picked clean."

"Sounds like you did a lot of people a favor," Preston said.

"Yeah but I didn't know that. I was terrified that these people were going to hunt me down. But for all I knew, they were just desperate. I mean, I know better _know,_ that they were just drug-addled psychopaths. The town they were terrorizing is now a thriving community," the prisoner lamented, "Because I decided they were too dangerous to let live. That's crazy. Even if I was right? That's still insane. And I did it again, and again, and again, day after day. Just, constant combat, all the time."

"That sounds rough."

"I fucking loved it, too. So simple. Guy wears too much leather? Bam! Too green? Bam! Black uniform? Bam! Black Power Armor? Pew! Two stories tall?" the prisoner made a 'Bwaaaaaaooooom!" and motioned a nuclear device going off, "No more problem. Eventually, people asked me to go to where those people were, to get stuff, and I did it. I would _go find this kind of trouble,_ and I made money off of it. Good money, too. You can make a lot of money off of landmines. I wrote about it in my book, have you read it? The 'Wasteland Survival Guide.' It's a serialized series, now. Written by a bunch of people. I used to make a lot of caps off of it."

" _You_ wrote the Wasteland Survival Guide?" Preston cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, I was the special researcher for it. Moira actually wrote it," the prisoner admitted.

"You like to talk, don't you?"

"I haven't been able to talk like myself in over seven years. I've been pretending to be someone else. An old friend, someone who's been dead for nearly a decade and a half. I haven't had someone call me by my real name in over seven years. Sometime I don't feel like I'm anyone," the prisoner lamented. Preston was silent a moment, watching the prisoner rub his hand over his head.

"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you want?" Preston offered.

"Can you call me by my real name?" the prisoner requested.

"I think I can do that, Quentin."

Tears rolled down Quentin's face, "Thank you. Those files, that tradition I started? How to defeat them was only half of the story."

"So what's the other half for Garvey's Bunch?" Preston asked.

"Well the Brotherhood stopped doing that. Dumbasses. But…For you? Drill into their officers the need to remain supported, and not to isolate themselves in tactical, or social, situations. Minutemen are most effective when paired with force multipliers, including and particularly when paired with other units they have strong bonds with. Remind them that it is important to celebrate those rescued more than lament the loss of those they could not save. Encourage their sense of honor, and teach them to engage in a broad variety of tactics and engage with a variety of equipment, so as to retain their adaptability. Maintain high ethical and practical standards for all Minutemen units, and ensure that they retain their bonds with local populace. The Minutemen are most strongly motivated by the support of the people."

Preston nodded, "Thank you, Quentin."

"Happy to help. Let me know when the General is ready to talk."

"That probably won't be until morning."

"I'll be here," Quentin laid down on his cot.


	9. Castle Prison Blues

"Being dragged all over the Commonwealth on a damn whim, I've got responsibilities now, you know. _I'm_ an _adult,_ " MacCready insisted to his Minuteman escort. He scrunched up his face, "Oh, God. I'm an _adult…_ Ugh, who said that was OK…"

"I think Mom did," Duncan said, "Also, 'Mungo, Mungo, daddy is a Mungo!'"

"Yeah. You're my kid all right," MacCready sighed.

"I thought you said we weren't gonna go anywhere after we got to the farm?" Duncan whined.

"No, I said no more _walking._ As you can clearly see, we are on a _boat._ Big difference," MacCready pointed out.

"Well, that's a good point," Duncan conceded, the whine leaving his voice.

"Yeah, boat's way easier to get around the Commonwealth," the Minuteman said, "The ocean is like a big, wet, watery road."

"Yeah, well, if you find any mermaids soliciting you for sexual favors, be sure to _turn them down,_ " MacCready warned.

"I will keep that under advisement," the Minuteman nodded.

"So are there any _pirates?_ Pirates are cool!" Duncan asked.

"Naw, Raiders aren't organized to use boats. The Gunners are, but we keep their boats up. Or stealing them, that's really fun," the Minuteman chuckled, "Moving troops by boat turns what would be a day's march into a couple of hours. We can get troops from the Castle to Far Harbor in five hours. I think we were built for the sea."

"Uh, yeah, that's real interesting stuff," MacCready grumbled.

"Do you fight any sea monsters?" Duncan asked.

"Sure do. That's why we got this baby," the Minuteman pointed to the ship's cannon. It was a Mortar, like the same ones every settlement was equipped with, except modified to fire in nearly any direction, "And a couple of others. Last time a Mirelurk Queen attacked, we cracked her shell inside of twenty seconds. We haven't had any problems since, really, but we still gotta be careful, or the crabs might decide you're tastier than they are!"

"My dad fights Mirelurks!" Duncan boasted.

"Yeah I heard he fights a lot of stuff," the Minuteman said, glancing at MacCready.

"Yeah. Like the Institute, and Raiders, and Gunners. Same as you guys, I suspect, only with more style," MacCready retorted, "Hey, kiddo. Look up ahead. It's the Castle."

Duncan looked up, and there it was, the brick and mortar Castle. The two collapsed walls had been rebuilt, and the entire siding had been reinforced with metal plates, making it glisten in the sunlight.

"Woooooah!" Duncan's eyes lit up, which he then shielded with his hand from the reflection.

"Yeah, put on your sunglasses, it can get pretty bright out here," MacCready told his son, and they both slipped on sunglasses at the same time, "Just so you know, Duncan, I've got some pretty important friends, so, this sort of thing might happen a lot, where I'll get called in for my advice. You're always my top priority, Duncan. But I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't important."

"It's okay, Dad. I know you're the best soldier ever."

"Yeah…Best…Soldier ever, listen, Duncan, I-"

"We're here," the boat's captain announced. Sure enough, they had docked. MacCready hoisted their bag over his shoulder, and walked to the wall, where they lowered the stairs for him, so they could walk over the wall instead of around to the front entrance.

The Castle was now a hub of activity, mostly military but certainly economic. There were Brotherhood and Minutemen officers coordinating patrols, traders selling to Quartermasters, Minutemen marching and drilling. One wall was dedicated to Power Armor stations, though only a handful were occupied. The wall had been more than just been rebuilt, it was expanded inward to include its own building, as well, which MacCready and Duncan had to walk around and down the side stairs.

"They really built this place up since the last time I was here," MacCready admitted, "The Minutemen are doing really well for themselves."

"Is this the army you were a soldier for?" Duncan asked.

"Uh…It's complicated, Duncan. I'll explain when you're a bit older, but the short answer is 'yes.' I fought with the Minutemen," he explained. It was as close to the truth that MacCready could bring to bear.

"MacCready!" Nora was upon him in a flash, and he found himself suddenly hugged.

"Oh! Hey, Nora!" MacCready hugged her back. She was only ever this huggy after having gotten drunk, and she didn't drink unless something serious had happened.

"I appreciate you coming down on such short notice, it's been…Crazy since we last spoke. I know you just got here and you wanted to settle I, but…This couldn't wait. Big, high-end security kind of thing. Why don't we leave Duncan with Corporal Paolini and Dogmeat, and we can get this over with?"

"We in some kind of hurry?"

"I would just rather make effective use of our time, is all," Nora admitted, "Let's go to my office."

She led MacCready to her office, but instead of stopping, she opened the door down into the basement. MacCready didn't even know the Castle had a basement. Inside, Preston Garvey and Deacon were waiting in front of a cell, and there was a man in the cell.

"This man claims to be someone that knows you, and that if you were to recognize what he has to say, it would confirm his identity," Nora said.

"Robert Josheph MacCready, age twenty-five. Single father of one Duncan MacCready. Occupation, mercenary and drifter. Once thought to be of no particular interest to the Brotherhood, his activities with Paladin Killinger has brought him to the forefront of their attention. Recommended countermeasures should he become a hostile agent is by taking his son and baiting MacCready into coming after him, and luring him into an ambush. Should he choose not to fall into the ambush, his tactics would fall to camping outside of Brotherhood encampments, sniping Brotherhood Knights and Paladins until numbers thinned enough for him to slip in and conduct a rescue. Antisocial behaviors and self-doubt make his collaboration with other hostile gents or agencies unlikely, making besieging him a simple matter. Unlikely to be much of a threat in close-quarters combat. Additional note: His face strongly resembles the posterior of one Quentin Whitcomb," Quentin listed off the Brotherhood file, and ended by looking MacCready in the eyes.

"Which is a remarkable good-looking posterior, if I do say so myself," MacCready added, "But…How could you possibly know that conversation? There were only three people there, and one of them was a Ghoul. No way you're the Ghoul."

"Facial reconstruction," Quentin motioned to his face.

"Oh, okay. So…Why do you have the Lone Wanderer locked in a cage, Nora?" MacCready looked to her.

"I had to confirm it was him. Deacon has already verified his involvement with the Railroad, but short of a genetic test, we had to verify. So it is him, the Lone Wanderer?"

"Yeah, it has to be. Either that, or he's a Synth, those are the only possible explanations," MacCready insisted, "I heard that he died. Or got abducted by aliens. Or was it some kind of cult?"

"I just hallucinated the whole alien thing," Quentin said, "Seemed pretty real, though. It was an old satellite that crashed into a subterranean fungal formation. That was the trip of a lifetime."

"So what do we do with him now?" Deacon asked.

"He's going to tell me everything, is what," Nora stood at the bars of the cell. Quentin sighed.

"All right. It's a long story, though."

"I had made friends with the Brotherhood Outcasts for a couple of reasons. This was years ago, when the Eastern Brotherhood was at war with itself. First, I'd helped them out by going through a simulation so they could unlock a technological cache. They let me take some of the loot, but, uh, they ended up slaughtering each other instead. So I walked away with everything. But I knew they were in need of some serious help, so I ran some missions for them. They paid me in ammo and chems, but really, I just wanted them to not fight each other.

"Then I joined the Brotherhood itself, after the Enclave took over Project Purity and killed my dad. I was more than a little busy at the time fighting the Enclave, but once everything settled down, I stayed on with the Brotherhood. I was a Knight now, and a member of their elite unit, the Lyons' Pride. Then Elder Lyons died, and Sarah took his place as Elder. She continued his work, protecting Wastelanders.

"Together, formed a plan. The Capital Guard. The idea was that the Brotherhood would go back to its original policy of collecting and developing technology, having trained the local communities to fight for themselves, instead of relying on us. I had good relations with the Outcasts, so we even managed to get them to cooperate. They collected technology, while we trained the Capital Guard. In five years, the mission to train the Guard would be over, and the two factions could reconcile.

"Well, then Sarah Lyons got killed. A new Elder stepped in. He was a good guy, but he was a Scribe and he had no idea what he was doing. He just wasn't a leader. He didn't last a year by the time he stepped down. The next lady was a Paladin, who didn't really appreciate the logistics of what we were trying to do, and ended up just leading troops into battle instead of training the Guard. The Outcasts were starting to get riled up and doubting the plan.

"Now, I'd taken Arthur under my wing after Sarah died. He was _my_ squire. He polished _my_ armor. I taught him how to work with technology, I taught him how to apply the Codex, and I trusted him with what we were trying to do with the Capital Guard. He knew _everything,_ including who my contacts in the Outcasts were.

"Eventually, when it was clear that the new Elder wasn't working out, we decided to reach out to the Western Brotherhood, out in California. We had hoped they would send an Elder to take control of the situation with reinforcements. In fact, we asked them to reach out to the NCR, the country in that area, and see if they would be willing to send combat advisers to train the Capital Guard. We were excited, this was going to solve all our problems. The East and West Brotherhoods were going to reunite, if in name only. We went through extraordinary measures to find a way to get messages to them. We connected to the same computer network that the Enclave used, PoseidonNet, hoping they'd find the message. And it worked. They got back to us. You know what they said?"

Nora shook her head.

"They said, 'The Brotherhood appreciates your update. It is clear that you are a capable leader of men. We appoint you, Paladin Quentin Whitcomb, to Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel.' There were a few other details, but they made _me_ the new Elder. I was surprised, but I was ready to take on the responsibility. No mention of Arthur at all. I had the Outcasts' trust, I knew the plan for the Capital Guard, and I was an effective Paladin. I figured, if they weren't going to do anything, this was the next best thing anyway. I was ready to take it on. I had already lost my dad, my friend, my home. I might as well make the Brotherhood my life.

"I had a friend. Star Paladin Cross. She had been my father's bodyguard, and then she was mine. She was aging and war-weary, but she insisted on taking on more and more cybernetics to keep her going. She was in her early sixties when she had her latest operation. I trusted the Outcasts, to take care of my friend, my mentor. This was just before we got in contact with the Western Brotherhood. After the messages were exchanged, the Outcasts contacted me, saying that Cross was awoken. I went to see her."

Quentin shook her head.

"They did horrible things to her. The Outcasts, they'd picked up on this Enclave experiment, codename Horrigan. And they'd applied it to her. They turned her into…Worse than a Super Mutant. Her Power Armor was fitted to her body so she couldn't take it off. She left arm, it was six feet long and had these terrible claws. They locked me in with her. She recognized me. She _knew who I was._ And then they shocked her. Again and again, until she attacked me. I guess, she bloodied me up enough that they thought I was dead. I don't really remember what happened, except that eventually, we escaped."

"That's horrible…" Deacon muttered.

"Not even the worst part. I managed to get back to the Citadel. Just in time to watch then inaugurate their new 'Elder.' A _boy._ And standing next to him was Protector Casdin the new Head of the Paladin Order. A man I trusted, a man I had thought was my friend. I was messed up. I went to the only place I knew I could find safety, to Rivet City, and I found Butch. He found Pinkerton, who gave me my new face and my new identity as our late friend, Paul Hannon.

"I watched the Prydwen float over the Capital Wasteland. I saw the Capital Guard falter, because they didn't have the upper leadership that they needed. So we drove the Tunnel Snakes to new heights. Next best thing. Butch knew how to recruit new members, and I knew how to direct them. It was a busy life. Then we got Lacey, and she was able to take on a lot of my duties. So…I started snooping back into the Brotherhood, and…The things I'd found out…

"The record was full of barely believable stories of this prodigy Brotherhood squire, the descendant of our founders. As if the rest of the Brotherhood isn't all directly related to the Maxsons. Sarah Lyons was Arthur's second cousin. Her father and his father were like brothers, that's why he _took_ Arthur to the East Coast. But he'd…Erased the Capital Guard from the record. He'd basically erased _me_ as being anything more than an honorable Wastelander who'd been given honors. Any Paladin that contradicted him 'died honorably' until they just stopped talking about it. And Protector Casdin? Yeah, he was dead inside of a year.

"I found out through an Outcast who was suspicious of Arthur, who did some digging, and they found out that Arthur had been in on everything, from when he was still Sarah's squire. The psychopath had been planning this since he was _thirteen._ He gave Sarah, who'd been like an older sister to him, bad intel, intentionally, and the Outcasts had given Raiders high-end laser weapons. They _assassinated_ the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel. The intention was that the Outcasts would step in, and offer to reunite, with Casdin as the new leader.

"But Arthur wasn't done. _He_ talked Scribe Rothchild into taking Sarah's place. Rothchild was a good guy, a smart fellow, an honorable man. He was not, however, the person to lead the Brotherhood. But I followed him anyway, because I trusted him. It was too much for Rothchild, and he stepped down. Then he talked to Paladin Bael, and he was not a leader of men by any stretch of the imagination. He was trying to make himself look good in the eyes of the rest of the Brotherhood, but he didn't count on _me_ taking the initiative. He thought I was a pushover. But I had strong connections to the rest of the Brotherhood, they respected me. The Outcasts, the ones who weren't in on this conspiracy, _they_ trusted me. So, as it turns out, a number of Paladins, Scribes, and Outcasts had _also_ sent a message to the Western Brotherhood. It was a _petition._ They asked them to appoint _me_ as Elder, instead of sending one. I wasn't just _appointed_ Elder. I was _elected._ "

"That must have made things difficult," Preston noted.

"No doubt. So, Casdin and Arthur hatched a new plan. Kill me, have a funeral, say that the Western Brotherhood appointed _him_ as Elder, and Casdin as Head Paladin. My funeral was very nice. I was there. Arthur gave a moving speech. Said that my death was proof that artificial life was a menace, that if one had their mind stripped away by machine, they were a monster no better than a Super Mutant. Which, by the way, I had another funeral, put on by my friends, my real friends? I had _two_ Super Mutants at that funeral, _and_ a Synth, and it was held at Underworld, a city _inhabited entirely by Ghouls_. My definition of humanity is pretty liberal.

"Over the next few years, Paladins that opposed his leadership started disappearing, until the others stopped talking about it. Arthur went on a recruiting spree, revising history and revising policy. Casdin disappeared. Fed to Mole Rats. Good riddance. Then the Brotherhood left on the Prydwen, up north, to deal with the Institute Menace. I started gathering more resources. Spies within the Brotherhood. I started training more Tunnel Snakes and, in secret, Rivet City Guard and the Regulators. The intention was to hold a rebellion against Maxson, and split the Brotherhood again after getting my old face back. Without the support of the people, the Brotherhood is nothing.

"But then I heard about a peculiar thing. A new Sentinel had been appointed, and the Institute was destroyed by an army of citizen-soldiers. I looked into it. And boy, was I surprised about what I found out. Not only could I have my rebellion, I didn't even have to raise a new army. There's one already here! All I have to do is convince their leader to join me. Because if you don't think that Arthur is going to betray you and ensure you have an 'accident,' you're…Well…As good as dead."

Everyone looked to Nora, or stared at the walls. Nora stroked her chin, and said,

"No."


	10. Second Battle of Quincy

"So…you're just going to ignore the Lone Wanderer, a hero of the Capital Wasteland, and everything he's been through?" Preston asked.

"I didn't say that. I said no, I'm not going to help him. I did not say I was going to do nothing," Nora informed him, "You know what I'm going to do?"

"Subvert and assume authority?" Deacon proposed. She glared at him.

"Yes, actually."

"Got it in one."

"I'm not going to change a thing. I'm going to keep on as if nothing is wrong. Quentin is going back to the Tunnel Snakes. We are going to leak out that Paul Hannon Junior had intelligence on the Gunners, and had a peculiar way of delivering it to me. Despite his attack on me, we are _grateful_ for his information, and we are going to act on it, starting today. By the end of the month, the Gunners will be wiped off the Commonwealth."

"That sounds like a good plan, General, but what are we going to do about Elder Maxson?" Preston reiterated his question.

"Right now? Nothing. We're going to make it look like I'm focusing on Commonwealth affairs, because that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to get the Commonwealth in order before stretching my resources too thin. Preston, I want as many units you can muster geared up, trained up, and ready to go in two weeks. Deacon, if you don't mind, I need you to find someone for me."

"You got it, Professor. What's the name?"

"Parker Quinn. He's a con artist, out by the South Boston Police Department. I've got a job for him, and if it works, he'll be a freaking hero."

* * *

"Halt! Who goes there?" the Gunner guard barked.

"I'm just here to trade. I've got the deal of a lifetime for the Gunners!"

"What are you selling?"

"I'm selling the foremost in credit and convenience."

"Not interested."

"Retard."

"What did you call me?"

"I said, the Gunners are hurting, and you turn away the best way for you to buy gear, right from Diamond City? Re. Tard."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well you're obviously too stupid to understand the complex logistical solutions I offer for your Quartermasters, so maybe you should just let me in, and I'll be able to talk to someone who isn't drooling on his own chest at the thought of counting further than ten, all right?"

* * *

"Welcome to Kill or Be Killed, I'm KLEO, owner and proprietor. How can I help _you_ today?" the Assaultron greeted the beefcake that entered her store.

"Do you accept these charge-cards?" the man asked.

"Sure do, honey. Everyone in Goodneighbor accepts the Charge-Cards. They're all the rage these days," she purred.

"Excellent. I've got a list of guns and ammo I need to fill out."

* * *

"Hey you there! Can I interest you in a gen-yew-wine hickory Swattah? It's a Diamond City Tradition! Celebrate the all-American sport, Baseball!" Moe Cronin called out.

"You take Charge-Cards, right?" a woman with a scar running down her face in a blue denim dress asked him. He grinned, ear to ear.

"Sure do! Best way to buy a Swattah!"

* * *

"Welcome to Vaul-Trade, where we get you prepared for the future!" the Vaul-Trader declared to a man wearing leather armor and sunglasses.

"I'm going to pay with my charge-cards," the man announced.

"Can do! What'll it be?"

* * *

"You're Lucas Mills, right? You sell armor?" a woman, wearing army fatigues and combat armor, stood in the middle of the road. The caravan guards clutched their weapons.

"Yeah, I've got protection," he replied. She dug into her pockets. The guards aimed their weapons. She pulled out some rectangular pieces of plastic.

"Do you take charge-cards?"

* * *

The Gunner quartermasters met at Postal Square, where they'd started a depot for the collection of gear. It was risky, but they had to take the chance. The Gunners were low on supplies, and it was difficult to get into and out of Boston unscathed with the Minutemen taking a stronger position all around the Commonwealth.

"I can't believe it, every merchant I talked to took these ridiculous pieces of plastic," one said.

"It's crazy, they must have figured out a way to get them working again, or something," another remarked.

"That Parker Quinn's going to be rolling in caps once this catches back on. Do you know how many he sold? He was tossing them out like they were Nuka-Cola!" a third agreed.

"Is this everyone?" their commander asked. There was a dozen or so quartermasters and their Brahmins and guard. They had boxes upon boxes of ammo, guns, clothing, and other supplies desperately needed by the Gunners.

"Looks like it, Chief."

"Excellent. Get everyone rounded up, we're headed back to Quincy."

"Yes, sir!"

The commanding officer turned, only to find one of the Gunner soldiers aiming a rifle in his face, wearing a Minuteman hat.

"What the hell are you-"

The soldier blew the officer's head off, and several of the other Gunners turned on their fellows, each wearing a Minuteman hat. The 'Pop' of Laser Muskets rang out, and more Minutemen slipped into the street. Minuteman wearing a suit of T-45 Power Armor thumped along with them, holding a contraption that had six Laser Musket barrels with a single emitter in the center. The Power Armor-clad Minuteman cranked his weapon several times before firing, causing a red streak of light that crashed into the side of a building, leaving a hole in the side, and removing half the torso of every Gunner it touched, and setting fire to several others. It was an effective field test of the Laser Cannon.

The Minutemen had the Gunners mopped up in a few minutes, leaving most of the Quartermasters alive, and preserving most of their gear. The Minutemen began collecting the Gunners' gear and their purchases.

"Wh-what are you going to do with us?" one quartermaster asked. The Minuteman grinned.

"You're going back to Quincy."

* * *

"I still don't understand this operation," Captain Teller said. She was one of the unit leaders that Preston had gathered for the assault on Quincy.

"It's pretty complicated," Preston admitted, "But it went like this: Beforehand, the Minutemen got enough caps to back these prewar charge-cards at a hundred caps a piece. We got some sponsors to make it happen. We sent in Parker Quinn to the Gunners to sell them the charge-cards at a hundred and ten caps a piece. His payment is the extra ten caps."

"Uh huh. So why are we paying for the Gunners' equipment?" Teller asked. They were following the 'Gunner' caravan back to Quincy. The Quartermasters were still alive, but their 'guards' were all Minutemen in Gunner uniforms.

"Well, we took most of the gear for ourselves. Those Brahmin are loaded with bombs and some gear we're willing to sacrifice to trick them into letting our boys in. So we didn't pay for the Gunners' gear, we paid for our own gear. The Gunners just did the shopping, then we took possession of it."

"So what's with the Charge-Cards?"

"Anyone who bought anything with a Charge-Card, we knew to be a Gunner supply officer. We paid the merchants to make notes of whenever and whoever tried to use one. Once we were alerted to the use of a charge-card, we tracked the Gunner down until we found their depot. It was a mark, see?"

"Oh. Wow, that's…Better than anything we did before the first Battle of Quincy," Captain Teller said, "Almost like we're a real army now, you know?"

"We are a real army!" Preston laughed.

"Well, now we're taking the initiative, you know? No more waiting for something to happen. We're _making_ things happen. Taking the Good Fight to _them_ for once, know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I hear you."

* * *

It was another day before the Quartermasters arrived at Quincy. Preston's army, consisting of nearly two hundred men and women, currently holed up in Quincy Quarries to hide their presence and numbers, with scout and recon groups keeping the area clear of lookie-loos. Preston knew that there was going to be a two-pronged attack, but they were going to be the first wave. They had Power Armor and Heavy Weapons, which had been smuggled in days before one at a time. Once the battle was engaged, the Atom Cats and their Power Armor units were going to attack from the other side, along with a second Minuteman force moving in from the sea.

To the north was Gunner's Plaza, which was their HQ. A fourth force, this one led by the Brotherhood of Steel, was going to be assaulting that location, preventing the Gunners from flanking Preston's army. There were over a thousand soldiers that the Minutemen were bringing to bear. There were as many Minutemen taking part in this battle as there were stationed in settlements, nearly half of their entire force. The Gunners were going to be outmanned and now outgunned. It was about time.

The exploding Brahmin let out a reverberation that could be felt even through the stones of the quarry.

"That's the signal! FOR THE COMMONWEALTH!" Preston called out, and he put on his helmet. He was one of the Power Armor troopers here, armed with one of the new Laser Cannons the Brotherhood helped develop for the Minutemen. He was the first up the ramp, followed by two hundred Minutemen.

The Gunners' gates had been split open from the inside out, and the quartermasters, who had tried fleeing just before the bombs went off, had been shot in the back before they could take off. The Minutemen who had snuck in were holed up in a building, pinning down the Gunners who were trying to avenge their comrades. When the gates were swarmed with Minutemen, however, they took a beating.

The Gunners had enough men to face two hundred. They had the training and equipment to do so, even though the Minutemen had Power Armor. After all, they had their own suits, which they quickly brought to bear using missile launchers.

The Gunners were unprepared, however, for the Atom Cats to attack another wall, taking it down with Fat Man launchers, and breaking their wall entirely. Still, they were prepared for a second attack of Power Armor troopers, and had the Heavy Weapons to take them on. They couldn't bear a prolonged siege, but nobody ever accused the Gunners of taking their time to finish fights.

When they dedicated troops to block the Atom Cats advance, however, they found themselves being assaulted not just by stylish suits of Power Armor, but by Harbormen wearing Recon Armor, fresh off the boat. Harbormen Minutemen were still pouring off the boats and charging into the breach. A Gunner Vertibird tried to take off, but it was brought down with concentrated fire. They sent out a plea for help from Gunner's Plaza, but the outside had already been taken by the Brotherhood of Steel, who had landed their own Vertibirds on the roof of the former GNN studio.

The fiercest battle the Gunners faced, however, was from a small group of soldiers who had gotten into Quincy from the south just after Preston and his troops had made it in. Two soldiers in X-01 Power Armor had gotten through the wall, supported by a platoon of combat robots: Sentry Bots, Assaultrons, Mister Gutsies, all custom built and modified with different kinds of parts and weapons. The troops in Power Armor brought Gatling Lasers, which chewed through the Gunner lines. They were not there to take strategic positions, as they often found themselves surrounded by enemies. They were there to slaughter the Gunners wholesale.

A few Gunners managed to escape Quincy or the Plaza onslaught. They slipped into the wilderness, hoping to regroup later. Instead, they found themselves being picked off by snipers, totally unseen in the wilderness. Railroad snipers, armed with both conventional Hunting Rifles and with scoped Gauss Rifles had the entire area surrounded, taking out survivors and stragglers, preventing any continued Gunner resistance after the battle.

All in all, the battle lasted for two hours, before the last Gunner squad surrendered, having seen their officer get turned to dust by a laser musket shot. The Second Battle of Quincy came to an end, far faster than the first had. Like the First Battle, one of the participants was shattered and destroyed.

* * *

Zeke, Colonel Garvey, General Killinger, High Paladin Brandis, and Harbor Captain Bertha met in the Quincy Church. A prison camp had already been set up for the Gunners outside of town.

"The first order of business is the matter of the Gunner Power Armor frames," Nora began, "We have recovered seventeen frames from the Gunners. As promised, the Brotherhood gets a double share of them, while the Atom cats and Minutemen will have an even split. As such, the Brotherhood will receive eight, the Atom Cats will receive four for their use and one to repair and sell, while the Minutemen will keep four."

"Why does the Brotherhood get double shares of the Power Armor if all they did was take their headquarters? We were the ones who did all the tough work!" Bertha objected.

"It was in accordance to a deal made before the attack was commenced," Brandis explained, "The Brotherhood would seize Gunner's Plaza in exchange for additional help in reconstructing the city, and getting GNN plaza working again. It's not what we did during the battle, it's the deal we made for after the battle."

"…Oh. Okay," she leaned back.

"The Harbormen of Far Harbor will have equal settlement rights to the Quincy area. It is the understanding that they will construct dry docks for the continued development of our merchant marine and naval forces," Nora continued. Bertha nodded. Nora continued, "The Minutemen will take control of Quincy itself, and it will be colonized by Harbormen and people of the Commonwealth.

"The Gunners prisoners will be put on trial as we connect individual Gunners to their crimes. The most we can hope to do is identify officers, and any soldiers under their command will share their fates. The question is, what should their fates be?" Nora asked, "Are we going to execute nearly three dozen prisoners? Are we going to keep them in camps? For how long? Under what conditions? Do we exile them? This is the hardest question we have, though not our last."

"I know I'd prefer to see the Gunners all dead for what they did to the Minutemen," Preston admitted, "But that's not the world I want to build. We should handle them on a case-by-case basis, and the ones that can be redeemed should work for their freedom."

"I don't see the point," Bertha said, "These guys have plagued the Commonwealth for years. They aren't our problem, and we don't want them to be. If you don't have the stomach for it, let us handle the executions. That way, the Gunners won't have anyone with memories that Far Harbor was involved."

"The Brotherhood of Steel is not in the habit of taking prisoners at all," Brandis said.

"The Gunners are bad news, but I don't think it's a good idea to just line them up and shoot them," Zeke said, "I think putting them to work after trials is the best option we have."

"So what conditions do we put for discharging of prisoners? When is a Gunner redeemed?" Nora asked.

"Might want to put a stopper in that bottle, General," Deacon, wearing a Minuteman outfit, interrupted as he entered the church, "We just got a confession from a Gunner officer. Second in command, actually. You're going to want to read this."

Deacon handed Nora a slip of paper, and she read it, scowling. She handed it to Brandis.

"Steel save us…" Brandis muttered.

"What is it?" Preston asked.

"Preston, do you know the history of the Gunners?" Nora asked. He shook his head.

"They're a well-armed Raider gang, what's to know?"

"That they were founded and led by someone. Their entire organization as deliberate. The Gunners aren't Raiders. They're a conspiracy. Which is something I suspected from the beginning. According to this confession? The Gunners were founded, trained, and backed by Ronto."


	11. Peace Only Under Liberty

_Author Note: This one's kind of an exposition dump. It's just me designing government, mostly, which is a passion of mine._

"So what crazy scheme do you have for us next?" Deacon asked. They were in Quincy still. It had been four days since the defeat of the Gunners. Mines had to be disarmed, stragglers to kill or capture. But the city now belonged to the Minutemen. With this, the southern routes to Providence and Heart's Ford were open. The Steel Road would no longer have to go around the Glowing Sea, but rather take to the ocean. Settlement of Long Island was far more open than it had been. Quincy had been the greatest lock on trade with the Commonwealth, as it forced traders to take to the sea or move through the Woo.

Steel from the Pitt was the most important resource right now, for everyone. All of the major factions relied upon it: Ronto, the Brotherhood, the Commonwealth. Any kind of industry needed their steel. The Commonwealth had Saugus, but it was still under reconstruction, and it couldn't provide enough steel to be a true competitor.

That was why Long Island was such an important hub, why everyone wanted to control it. While New York City had been a paradise of prewar corporations and research, it was now a blasted hellscape. More nukes had fallen on New York than anywhere else. Upper Long Island was inhabitable, but Manhattan had made the Glowing Sea look like a tropical paradise. What had caught the attention of the Brotherhood, however, was the fact that the radiation levels had dropped, dramatically, in the last ten years. King Francis, based out of Buffalo, wanted to control the upper Steel Road. Conflict between the Brotherhood and the Court of Empire was brewing, and fast.

"The next crazy scheme," she approached the front gates, still blown in two, "Is an old crazy scheme."

Arriving in a group was a congregation of leaders throughout the Commonwealth. Geneva, the Mayor of Diamond City; John Hancock, the mayor of Goodneighbor; June Warwick, matriarch of Warwick Farms; Blake Abernathy, of Abernathy Farm; Kessler, mayor of Bunker Hill. Along with them were merchants, mercenaries, and industrialists.

"What!" Deacon exclaimed, "What are you planning this time?"

"The new plan is the old plan. Just no Institute to mess it up," Nora said, "Welcome to Quincy, Ladies and Gentlemen. Our old tenants were a bit rowdy, so we had them evicted. If you would step this way, you'll see some of the renovations we're undertaking."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Deacon remarked.

"So what _are_ we doing here, General?" Kessler asked.

"Why don't we come inside the church, and we'll get started," Nora led them inside.

"Lemonade! Fresh, free lemonade, one per customer!" a Mister Handy called out, handing lemonade to the dignitaries. Some of them looked at the robot with suspicion; others took their lemonade and thanked him. A few people, including Captain Bertha, Paladin Brandis, and Zeke were already here. Once everyone was inside, she took to the podium.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, Ghouls, you are here as representatives of the Commonwealth. We are here, on what had once been a battleground, to commemorate a great victory. The second greatest threat to the Commonwealth, the Gunners, are defeated. They are scattered and destroyed. A few stragglers may yet remain, but they are broken.

"Unlike the Minutemen, the Gunners will not be able to reconstitute themselves. That's because the Gunners did not fight for anything greater than themselves. They do not have a cause more than their self-interest. They do not have ideals to strive for. Just mayhem and greed.

"For the first time in centuries, the Commonwealth stands without an enemy to frighten us into our homes. Many of your communities stand with the Minutemen, offering your support and resources to allow us to function. Others, we simply live as excellent neighbors. We have the opportunity to build something greater than we began with.

"Once, a long time ago, there was a dream. A dream of a united Commonwealth. One that shared its resources, as well as its challenges. It was put down by the incompetence of the Institute, whether the truth is that they were unable to inspire and lead, as the Institute had once claimed to me, or whether the Institute simply massacred their greatest competition in one fell swoop.

"I did not call you here to _discuss_ creating a Commonwealth government. We are not going to _theorize_ about one. We are going to _create_ a government. We have a standing army. We have a system of taxation. We already have a sense of what our laws ought to be already. The Commonwealth has always been a place of innovation and entrepreneurship, but it has always been a place of caring for each other. It's the reason, before the war, I became a practitioner of law. It was my job to ensure that justice was rightly and fairly served. Not with the barrel of a gun, but with ethics and truth.

"The precedent is already made. We can see from the progress of others that a new country can be forged, even with our neighbors. Across the Great Plains and many mountains, we can find the New California Republic, a nation with millions of people, with generations of Congressmen and Presidents. Grandparents who can't remember a time when the NCR _didn't_ exist.

"We can see it with the Court of Empire. We might call King Francis a Raider King, but he fought a war against Ronto, and he established a set of laws and a frame of government that, so far, has kept true to itself. The Commonwealth is a place of high tempers and big personalities, believe me. But from all my travels, all my battles, I have worked knowing that we are ready to make this work. Ready to be the _envy_ of our peers, as we always have been. From Providence to Far Harbor, from Quincy to Champli, we are prepared for the future. We just have to make it."

There was silence. Then murmurs. Then arguments between the delegates as they all started shouting at each other. Nora grinned.

"This is a big one, Nora," Deacon remarked.

"Isn't it?"

"Diamond City's stood on its own for decades, why do we need this new government?" Geneva called out.

"Oh, like you've gotten by without the Minutemen? Please. Diamond City patrols shrunk after the Minutemen went under! You should be grateful!" June Warwick shouted back.

"Are we going to get taxed?" Kessler demanded.

"I don't like the idea of being controlled from the Commonwealth," Bertha affirmed.

"Now, hold on, people, I know we all have our concerns about this whole thing," Hancock stood on his pew, "Some even have reservations, but we have to answer one big question moving forward."

He turned to look at Nora and asked, "What are we gonna _call_ this thing?"

She grinned, knowing what Hancock had done. He hadn't said what _would_ they call it. He asked what _are_ they going call it. As if it were an inevitability. That set the tone, that it was _going_ to happen.

"I don't know. I guess we'll just have to work that out."

It took a month and a half.

The United Commonwealth was, however, established in Quincy on December 12, 2290, with all attendees signing the new constitution. The Commonwealth Assembly was organized, and would meet once a month in an intact skyscraper (once Ticonderoga Safe house, but they didn't need to know that.) Members of the Assembly could be voted in locally, with each community being entitled to at least one representative, if they had a population of a certain size. Other members of the Assembly could be appointed with a supermajority, allowing non-elected members to hold seats, but never longer than six years, and these unelected members could not vote or propose to appoint another. This allowed other parties, such as the Atom Cats, to hold membership without being a town.

All elections used preferential voting, allowing voters to rank their choices from most to least. If a candidate couldn't garner enough votes, they were bumped out of the race, and a person's vote went to their second choice, until someone earned more than half of the votes. It was a lot to figure out, especially since 'None' was an option.

The Commonwealth Minutemen were formally recognized as the Armed Forces of the Commonwealth, and their leader, the General, was to be internally appointed, though approved by the Assembly, after such a time came that Nora were to vacate the position. The position was not allowed to be vacant; if the position of General were to remain vacant for longer than a year, the Assembly leadership would be forced to resign their posts entirely, or, if the Minutemen could not propose one within that time, then the Assembly could appoint one without their say.

The two greatest challenges facing the United Commonwealth's new government was that of Courts, and their President. The President was to be elected once every four years, and hold the position no longer than three terms. Arguments, and even fistfights, were common, as to who the first President should be. Many argued that they should have elections; others thought they should appoint the first President. The duties to enact and investigate the law were clear, but the person to do it, and how to choose them, was a great deal more obfuscated.

Eventually, however, the choice was made. Nora, Hancock, Kessler, Brandis, Bertha, and Zeke sat in a room.

"It was pretty clear, once the decision to appoint a President had been made, who it had to be."

"Everyone else had some kind of factional ties. You are the best choice."

"Congratulations."

Zeke's hair was a mess. He already hadn't groomed it in days, but now, it was a disaster.

"Yeah, but…I'm a grease monkey, man. President? Most difficult thing I've ever been in charge of is poetry night," Zeke ran his hand through it.

"We need someone strong," Bertha affirmed.

"Someone honest," Hancock remarked.

"Someone good with technology," Brandis added.

"Someone who will listen," Kessler declared.

"Someone who is willing to tell me, 'Woah, man. That's pretty harsh,'" Nora chimed, "And you are that person. The Atom Cats have been a bastion of helping other people just because it's the right thing to do. You can turn it down, Zeke, if you really don't think you want it."

He looked at Nora, "But they'd just pick you, wouldn't they?"

"They would. I don't think that's a good idea. I'm already the General and Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. I can't run the whole thing myself. Even if I was the President, I'd still pick you as my Vice President. So…There's really no getting out of this one. Because nobody can agree on a third choice," Nora explained.

"This is heavy, man. President Zeke…" he muttered. He stood and said, "Well, if we're gonna have a President, he's gotta be strong, honest, good with technology, a great listener, willing to give advice and, most importantly…"

He pulled out a container with some goop, and combed it into his hair.

"The President's gotta have _style._ "

The other question was, of course, about the court system. They couldn't function on a vigilante system, and the Minutemen couldn't fill every Executive role. While Zeke was a choice that they could, at least begrudgingly, agree upon for President, the only person who knew anything about structured law was Nora, who was already General of the Minutemen. There were no lawyers or judges; there were barely police, and few jurisdictions were the same. Diamond City only tolerated so much drug possession, while Goodneighbor had no limits. Who determined what jurisdiction applied where in areas not clearly claimed by certain settlements?

The need for established law enforcement and judiciary function was clear, but its application was not. The Assembly agreed to create the High Court, which made the final word on any dispute. They needed a brilliant legal expert as the High Justice, but the concept was so distant and alien that, aside from Nora, there were no legal experts.

Luck provides, however, when hard work does not, as a Minuteman noticed a pair of robes being hung out to dry. It belonged to a Ghoul by the name of Shelly Pikeman that turned out to be their solution. She was a steel caravan owner who had taken the Steel Road through Providence, one of the first to do so after the Second Battle of Quincy. She wasn't from the Commonwealth; she was from Ohio. But before the War, she had been a county judge, which was the closest thing they had to an expert.

So Chief Justice Pikeman, a Caravan driver from Ohio, was ushered in as the first High Justice. Responsibility of fleshing out the rest of the court system laid upon her, as she was expected to teach others to be Judges of all levels.


	12. Serve and Protect

If there was to be courts, there had to be police. The Commonwealth Common Law was established, with certain rights, such as freedom to hold property, free speech, and others were highlighted. Outside of the major settlements such as Concord, Quincy, Diamond City, or Goodneighbor, the Common law applied. Diamond City Security or the Neighborhood watch could enforce local law in their own areas, but a new system had to be established outside of those areas. For the present, that laid with the Minutemen, who had officers trained and educated in what the Common law said and meant.

A new system was needed, however, one that could cover everyone who needed it. So Nora turned to the premier law enforcement agent she knew.

"Oh no. I know why you're here, and the answer is _no. Way._ I'm not getting sucked into this machine you've built just so it can chew me up and spit out plastic and wire," Valentine snarled.

"Well, good to see you, too, Nick," Nora hung up her hat.

"Not gonna happen, missy. I'm happy just the way things are," he insisted.

"Ellie, how _are_ you?" she turned to Nick's secretary.

"Well, with no Institute providing a boogeyman, not as many people are afraid, so business has slowed a bit since you last worked with us, Nora," Ellie said.

"No, don't encourage her, she's just going to turn it against us!" Nick warned.

"I'm sorry to hear that. You and Nick do good work," Nora assured her.

"Thank you, Nora. Would you like some coffee?" Ellie offered. Nick scowled.

"That sounds lovely!" Nora smiled, and Ellie poured a couple of cups of a mix of herbs and roots that gave the same kind of caffeine hit that the people of the Old World gobbled down.

"It's not gonna work, Nora. I know your tricks, you've been talking me into things for years," Nick hissed.

"Now I suppose you want to hear about little Nick?" Ellie said. Nora's grin smile dulled. Nick Valentine III had been adopted by Nick and Ellie at Nora's request. Sure there had been other families who would have been happy to take in the boy; the Abernathy's, the Warwicks, the Finch's. The boy had been created, however, by the Institute. He had meant to replace Nora's son, Shaun, as some kind of twisted apology. Some strange recompense.

Nora had been a member of the Railroad. She had been a friend to the Synths. She was not known for harboring anti-Synth sentiment.

She could not even look at the boy.

"Yeah, how is he doing?"

"He's top of his class. It's everything the Zwicky's can do to keep him engaged. He's insatiably curious."

"That's good," Nora remarked, and she took a sip of her coffee. The awkward silence fell upon the Valentine home, broken only by Nick's flexing of his hand.

"All right, let's hear your pitch, then," Valentine grumped, crossing his arms. Nora looked at him.

"Oh, what ever do you mean?" Nora feigned, her smile returning.

"You came here about that government you put together. I know you and your schemes, you've got something in mind for me, so out with it already," he insisted.

"Actually, it's for both of you," Nora set down her cup, "Near as I see it, you two are the most qualified for it. You see, we can set laws. We can conduct diplomacy. We can build infrastructure and tax businesses and communities. If you thought Boston was a wreck _before,_ just wait until you've seen it when we're doing construction. Which is _all the time._ Construction is a lot like war, it never changes."

"But?" Nick growled.

"When did you get such a big chip in your shoulder, Nick?" Nora asked.

"Dealing with your smart remarks every time you open your mouth, which is _a lot,_ " he sneered, "And you've gotten in a nasty habit of only coming around when you want something. We haven't had a social visit in a long time, Nora. Somewhere along the way, you stopped seeming like a friend."

"Nick!" Ellie hissed at him.

"Well it's true. The last time you were here you wanted me to snoop into what Strong was doing. Before that, you had me go to Far Harbor to deliver a message to DiMA. At least he writes me letters. When you were last here, I offered to buy you some noodles, but you just said 'some other time.' That was four months ago, Nora. I'm supposed to be your friend, your partner," he continued. Nora played with her coffee cup, unsure of what to say.

"You're right, Nick. Of course you're right, it's just been…I haven't even had the chance to talk to Piper without having something else important to talk about. I even outsourced having my own kid to someone else, shoved them into Vault 81 until here it is, one baby girl, just like you ordered. I barely have time to tell Preston that I love him these days. Most of the time he's Colonel Garvey. Everything else seems important, that I've been losing sight of what lets me do the things that I do, which is people like you two. I'm sorry, Nick."

"Yeah, I'm…Sorry, too, I shouldn't have blown up at you like that," Nick remarked sheepishly.

"Aren't you supposed to beep when you do that?" Nora swiped. He threw up his hands and rolled his eyes.

"You never miss a chance to make a swipe at me, do you?"

"Low hanging fruit, Nick."

"I suppose I do make it easy for you," he conceded So what did you have in mind? What little niche have you found for this brave new world you're etching out for everyone?"

"We need cops. You two are really the only cops in the Wasteland. Nick, you have the training and memories of your predecessor, as well as your own experiences. Ellie, you've got years of experience processing and recording his cases. You two are two sides of the same coin of justice. Paperwork and fieldwork. What we need is real law enforcement. Not vigilantes, not wandering Marshals."

"That's a tall order," Nick admitted.

"Yeah. But you've got the support and backing of the United Commonwealth. We'll set you up in the old BADTFL building. You'll get to establish protocol and procedure. I don't expect prewar cops roaming the streets, nobody does. Even after you've got the Commonwealth Police established, I expect it will be years until you have enough people for it."

"The Commonwealth is huge. How do you expect to cover it?" Ellie asked.

"Well, it would sort of work on a system of sheriffs, I suppose. Whenever a crime has been committed that wastelanders can't resolve, it gets reported to the sheriff, who goes out to investigate. He gathers evidence, makes arrests, and submits it all to the courts. I have volunteers to establish the Forensics department, as well," Nora said, "That, and training would basically never end."

"Great, CSI eggheads," Nick lamented.

"We can't have our entire judicial system relying only on beat cops, Nick."

"No, I understand. Still, with budgets the way they were, you'd think they were the only ones with cuts. Speaking of budget, how is this getting paid for?" he asked.

"Well, part of the perks of being a police officer is that your housing and sustenance needs-clean food and water-are guaranteed by the state. All the police get housing, according to their needs and position. We're not going to force a family of four into a single bunk, but we're not giving a bachelor recruit a mansion, either. Taxation is always complicated, but the short answer is we're taxing bullets and chems. Those are never in short supply. We'll start off with just big munitions like fusion cores, mini nukes, rockets, flamer fuel, that sort of thing, so people can still buy the protection they need, but as things get more secure, and people don't need automatic shotguns to keep radscorpions at bay because the Minutemen are already cleaning up those nests, then we can start taxing more stuff."

"Which incentivizes the police to crack down on illegal arms and chems dealing, because the legal stuff is the source of their revenue. I've seen that kind of tax scheme go rotten before."

"I know. But we just don't have enough tax revenue to do anything else right now. I wish we could just pull from the general treasury, but there _is_ no general treasury. So heavy armament and chem regulation falls to the Commonwealth Police Department. One scheme was setting up private eye offices like yours all over the Commonwealth, but we decided it wasn't a good idea to keep a network of mercenary police officers on retainer."

"What about oversight?"

"You report directly to the President. Technically, you're on his Cabinet. Different Police Chiefs can be appointed by the Commissioner-which is you-and approved by the Assembly. The Commissioner can be fired and appointed by the President, with Assembly approval, same arrangement that the Minutemen General has for appointing high officers. There _has_ to be one, or the Assembly starts hemorrhaging members. Which is all political crap you don't need to worry about."

"And what if the Assembly decides it doesn't need that rule anymore, repeals that particular law, and sits on an appointment?" Nick asked. Nora shrugged.

"A coup, probably."

"Good to know we've got clearly established continuity of government."

"Well, the United Commonwealth isn't perfect. We've got legalized corruption in some ways, and major checks against it in others. We've got nearly a million constituents to cover between the Woo and Providence. It's better to establish the police department now than keep everything under martial law the way we effectively are right now. You've got the memories of what it was like, our legal system? Cops were basically occupying armies, lawyers were mouthpieces for the government. Commonwealth citizens have more rights under our system than they did prewar. But part of freedom is security. We can't pretend that it isn't."

"So you want me to establish this Commonwealth Police, train people to be detectives and investigate crimes. Bring law, if not order, back to the wasteland with my Boys in Blue?"

"We can't afford blue uniforms, it'll have to be gray or brown."

"Oh good, starting the authentic experience of police work with budget cuts," Nick shook his head.

"We could do it, but we need mutfruit as food more than we need blue dye," Nora admitted, "So what do you say? Ready to be the first real police officers in over two hundred years? I know I've already asked you to be parents. I know I've asked a lot of you over the years, Nick. But you're the best ones for the job. It's an awfully short list, too."

"We're going to need some kind of help," Ellie remarked.

"Well…Yeah. They can't spare much, but I've come into contact with a group known as the Regulators. Bounty hunters, who track down and kill Raiders and other evil men and women. They're not what we're looking for, but they've taken an interest in taking root up here. They aren't much for protocol, but they are the most experienced lawmen the Wasteland has been able to produce."

"We can't be picky, then. Send them our way, and we'll make proper detectives out of them," Nick promised.

"Is that a 'Yes'?"

"Yeah. We'd be happy to, Nora," Ellie assured her.

"I guess this is what we've been waiting for this whole time," Nick said, "What about Diamond City Security and the Neighborhood Watch? Are they under my jurisdiction, too?"

"There's no way I'd be able to stretch that. They're going to operate their own forces. If you want to change that arrangement you'll have to deal with their respective Mayors, and the President."

"Speaking of the President, who is our President? I don't remember any elections."

"Well, we needed a President immediately, so we had one appointed instead by the first Assembly."

"Don't tell me you-"

"No, no. They picked someone else. Someone we could trust to do the right thing for people."

"That's a short list. Not many names come to mind of people who could handle that job and still be honest about it."

"It was a tough call, but I think Zeke can handle it."

"Zeke? Who's Zeke?" Nick cocked an eyebrow. Ellie shrugged.

"You remember? Nice hair, glasses? Wore a leather jacket? Flame paint job Power Armor?"

Nick's eyes went wide, "You picked _that_ motorhead to be the _President_ of the Commonwealth?"

"We're kind of going with a theme of mechanical wonders for our upper leadership."

"Let me guess, Codsworth is Secretary of State."

"Oh heavens no! Department of the Interior."


	13. American History

Nora took some time off. Everyone knew she needed it.

She spent some time hunting with MacCready, showing his son how to shoot and how to gut a Ragstag. Essential skills for any six-year-old to know.

She had sex with Preston. A _lot_ of sex with Preston.

She visited her surrogate in Vault 81, and saw the ultrasound of her baby.

She played video games with Nick. Nick is terrible at video games. Which was why he always insisted on another round.

Nora and Piper read books. So many books.

She introduced Hancock to Skee Ball. Goodneighbor had a new addictive plague.

Cait's definition of fun involves throwing things, or beating things to a pulp. So Nora taught her how to play hockey. It caught on.

Nora introduced Curie to the phenomena of window shopping through the new stores of Quincy, and they needed to rent more than one Brahmin to move it all back to her labs. Who knew there was so much valuable scientific equipment in junk shops and thrift stores.

She ended her vacation spree on Deacon. At the beginning, she had commissioned a gift for her spymaster. After the Minutemen destroyed the Institute, the Railroad fought against a Raider gang that hunted and destroyed Synths. With the cooperation of the Minutemen, their reign of terror had been short-lived, and Nora had found places for many Synths in the Minutemen, or in other projects that needed competent staffing. Synths were everywhere in the upper echelons of Commonwealth leadership, living relatively comfortable lives while doing some real good for the people.

It was this, among other reasons, that the Railroad was integrated into the Minutemen in secret, acting as Nora's eyes and ears. They still smuggled Synths around and killed rumors of who was a Synth, but with no more Synths being produced, no more Synths needed to be saved, and the Railroad started losing membership and support. With them integrating into the Minutemen, however, the Railroad was still needed, and after the founding of the United Commonwealth, Minuteman Intelligence because the Bureau of Intelligence and Defense, or BID. Officially, the BID Director was Colonel Violet, a celebrated Minuteman scout, but while she was certainly competent and trusted, Deacon was the true leader of BID, as Desdemona and Dr. Carrington had remained committed to helping Synths.

And so, at the end of her vacation, on Christmas day, she presented him with a present. Though it had no lights, it almost seemed like there was a gold shimmer cast upon Deacon as he opened the package.

"Is this…?"

"It is."

He reached in with both hands, and slung the straps over his arms.

"I've never got a gift like this before…"

"Enjoy."

He pulled out the accordion from the case, and gave it a squeeze. It made a pitiful 'honk,' and he started into on the instrument, pushing and pulling and tapping at the keys. It was the worst racket Nora had ever heard.

"By the way, I have _no_ idea how to play the accordion," Deacon pointed out, "I just like Polka. Still, I'll get my lederhosen."

"I know I shouldn't be surprised you have lederhosen, and yet, for some unknowable reason, I am. Why is that."

"Because you enjoy being surprised?" he offered.

"Must be. Merry Christmas, Deacon."

"Yeah, I got you something, too. Merry Christmas."

He handed her a wrapped-up box. She shook it, listening, and opened it. Inside was a picture frame, with a highly detailed drawing, almost photographic in quality. It was a picture of her, in the Boston Common, with her late husband, Nate. She was holding a baby, and Codsworth was floating behind them. Suddenly everything got blurry, out of focus, and moist.

"I-Thank you, Deacon, how did you…?"

"I found a photo of your husband lined up with his unit in an old military base in New York, from back when he'd been deployed. I couldn't believe it at first, but I checked the records, and it matched up. I found an artist, and had it commissioned. It was almost late, but they got it. You once told me that Nate had wanted to go to the park the day the bombs fell. I like to think that, if they hadn't, it would have looked like this," Deacon explained. She grabbed his head, and kissed him on the forehead.

"Thank you, Deacon. This means a lot to me."

"You're welcome, Nora."

The day after Christmas, it was back to work, with Nora returning to the Castle. She had a calendar, counting down to the expected birth-week of June next year. Deacon was there already, as was, to her surprise, President Zeke and High Paladin Brandis.

"Mister President," she saluted him.

"That's never gonna not be weird," Zeke admitted, and he saluted back, "General."

He took a seat, and Nora sat on her end of the table.

"What can I do for you, Mister President?"

"Well, Brandis was in my office a couple days ago, talking about King Francis, and how Elder Maxson wants the United Commonwealth to do something about him," Zeke said, "I know I'm supposed to be the guy in charge, but I was looking for your insight on this, because I'm not…Well appraised on the situation. I was hoping for a briefing, and some solutions."

"What do you know, Mister President?" Nora asked.

"Just that he's some kind of Raider boss."

Nora stood, and turned to her bureau, opening up a geographical map that had been colored. It showed different factions and areas. On the west coast, from southern Oregon to Baja and all the way to Vegas, was colored an orange, and on the Pacific Ocean was the words 'New California Republic.' On the coast was a small little area not consumed by the NCR, which had 'The Shi' labeled next to San Francisco. The Lost Hills was also marked, with the Brotherhood of Steel emblem on it. On the eastern frontier was New Vegas, part of the NCR, which was only a few miles from its outermost border. All of the major towns of the NCR were marked, and even the cattle routes.

Southeast in Arizona, in a blood red, was 'The Caesarean Tribes.' A few places, Two-Sun, Phoenix, Flagstaff, and the Grand Canyon were marked, but there were few other details, unlike the NCR map.

Utah was just marked 'Mormons and Tribals' with little else. Salt Lake City was marked, as well as a single tribal village, just marked as 'Sulik?'

Further east, a few more Brotherhood of Steel bunkers were marked. Denver was noted, but no faction was associated with it. A dotted line over a faint yellow border was shown, with the caption of 'Inquisition.' A number of settlements was marked inside this area, but little else.

In Ohio, a few more details were clear. The Free State was marked around central and coastal Ohio, with major trade routes moving to the Pitt; all roads led into and out of the Pitt on the east coast, it seemed.

Ronto stretching from Detroit up into northern Canada, where eventually the border faded out. A number of settlements and points of interest were marked here. Trade routes into and out of Ronto moved to the Pitt.

The Pitt was, of course, marked, as most trade routes on the East Coast moved to it. To its southeast was Point Lookout, which was a hub of sea trade, moving up and down the coast, ranging from Far Harbor down to Savanna, Georgia. South of Point Lookout was the Capital Wasteland, which had the Brotherhood of Steel emblem marked on it. Adams AFB was similarly marked.

Southwest of the Pitt was Fort Knocks in Kentucky, which had the Talon Company logo marking it, along with a small amount of territory marked in a dark grey. There were no trade routes that moved through here.

South of the Capital Wasteland was Richmond, a moderate settlement with a Brotherhood marker on it. Further south was Broyhill, which was itself a hub of trade. To its east was 'Tech Triangle,' which had few settlements but was clearly marked as having trade routes coming in and out of it. The North Carolina coast was marked as 'Broken Banks.'

In South Carolina and northern Georgia was the Cotton Kings, with Colombia and Charleston being major towns in the area, connecting to the independent Broyhill through trade routes.

The furthest south marked settlement was Atlantica, which stretched from central Georgia to Mississippi, and eastward to Savanna, but it stopped short of entering Florida. There were no marked settlements in these places, but they were at least marked as belonging to Atlantica, which did not have its own emblem.

In the northern parts of the country were much more familiar territories to Zeke. New York City was marked with a bright red, with the word 'Manhattan Death Zone' clearly written with a skull next to it. Northern Long Island was not reddened, however. A sticker of the Prydwen was placed next to Albany, which was just outside of a teal colored territory, marked as 'Empire.' It stretched from eastern Ohio to northern New York, right on the border with Ronto, and nearly to Champli.

In the Commonwealth itself, there was two borders for the United Commonwealth. It had a dotted border like the 'Inquisition' in the Midwest had, encompassing all of the Commonwealth, as well as Champli and Far Harbor. The Commonwealth, with a solid black border, stretched from central Massachusetts to Boston, north to southern Maine, and south to include Providence. Faint lines showed trade routes and patrol areas.

"Woah, is that…The whole thing?" Zeke's eyes went wide, "The whole country?"

"All of the countries, rather," Nora corrected, "The truth is, there is no America anymore. There are American successor states, though. To really understand who and what King Francis is, you have to appreciate the whole picture. I can give you the briefing of 'He fought Ronto and united Raider Gangs and organized them into a Medieval Court,' but there is a lot more you have to understand. You have to understand the whole thing in order to understand King Francis.

"The NCR is the oldest, and most successful. As you can see they've taken over the West Coast. They're a Republic, old allies-and enemies-of the Brotherhood of Steel. They have a President, a Congress, the whole thing.

"Here we have the Caesarean Tribes. Some prick decided he wanted to recreate an old world Empire, and conquered a bunch of Tribals. He failed, but his imagery stuck around. We don't know much about them.

"A long time ago, there was a group known as the Inquisition that conquered most of the Midwest, all the way to Colorado. There's very little evidence of their existence except stories and a handful of gear with their symbol on it. Their timing matches up with a Brotherhood expedition around the same time, but they haven't been heard from in decades, so we're pretty sure they no longer exist as they had.

"Atlantica is a bit strange. In comparison to everyone else, they're really the only ones that weren't an alliance or series of conquests. Aside from trades who have done business with them, we haven't had contact. What we do know is that they are constantly skirmishing with the Cotton Kings, who are a series of slavers and plantation owners. They grow crops, while get sent north, to Broyhill, which has factories to turn them into textiles and fibers, and sends them to the coast, which gets traded everywhere.

"The Capital Wasteland has a few communities, namely Rivet City, as well as the Citadel, which was the headquarters of the Brotherhood of Steel until the Prydwen was launched. The Capital Wasteland isn't really a producer of any product, but they are a major research hub, especially with the Brotherhood of Steel so close and reliant on them. They're more of a consumer more than anything else. The Brotherhood pays for trade with medicinal services, technology, and guns. We didn't see it when they were here, but the Brotherhood is a major provider of ammunition.

"Point Lookout has the best white-water port, and so many small barges come here, often to pick up fruit that fends off radiation as well as exchange cargo. It's associated more with the Capital Wasteland than with anywhere else.

"The Pitt is probably the most important region of the country right now. They have several operational steel mills that can produce everything from farm plows to machine guns. If it's manufactured, not made with glue, and isn't two hundred years old, it came from the Pitt. Their biggest imports are food, fresh water, medical supplies, and scrap metal. They're starving for metal, they can't get enough spare cars and junk to melt down and turn into something they can sell. And the different countries can't get enough of what they're building. That's what the Steel Road is, the trading network to and from the Pitt. It's what connects us to the rest of the continent."

"What about that red line?" Zeke pointed. There was a trail that weaved through the US and split off to and from different regions with no discernable points of origin or arrival, except that it went across the entire country from the west coast.

"That is the Jet Road. We're not sure about who runs it, or the people involved, but Jet came from the West Coast. Now that it's here, and we know how to make it, the Jet Road isn't really important anymore. There's no demand for importing the stuff, since local Raiders make it themselves. Still, it's important to know where it was, because that was the first transcontinental trade route."

"Gotcha. Anyway, go on."

"Now, the Free State is some kind of mafia organization, a pre-war one that managed to stick together. They're run mostly by Ghouls and their un-irradiated descendants. They put together enough organization to maintain the Free State for as long as they have, barely managing to fight off Ronto several times over the last century or so."

"And who are Ronto?"

"Ronto is, we think, descended from the American occupation of Canada. There was enough gear being brought back from Alaska, and it was put there, and plenty of soldiers to operate it. Think of them as a what-if scenario, where they decided to take over instead of just over over the airport and dig in the dirt for laser guns. They're disciplined, they're organized, and they're extremely dangerous. Once every twenty years or so, they'll cross the border, trying to annex more territory. Eighty years ago, they destroyed the Titans, a group of Raiders in Detroit who had managed to get an old car factory working again, and had taken over most of Michigan. The factory was destroyed, but Ronto has occupied the region ever since, and has been somewhat of a belligerent neighbor for the communities on our side of what had once been the border."

"What kind of contact do we have with them?"

"Not much. They're concentrated in Ronto proper, and they've stretched themselves thin. They're mostly interested in recruiting new blood from tribes in very hostile regions of the wastes, particularly the north. They trade with the Pitt, and they can't move through King Francis's territory, but they can move through ours, so their traders are becoming increasingly common."

"Okay, I have more questions about Ronto. They move their traders through our territory, are we concerned they're going to start doing more?"

"They already have, Mister President. There's evidence to suggest they are the source of the Gunners."

"The _Gunners?_ Damn, that ain't cool. Why would they do that?"

Nora looked around to the people before her, and held her hands behind her back.

"We don't know, but I have a theory."

"All right, theorize."

"I believe that the Gunners were engineered as a means of opening up the Steel Road more directly to Ronto. If Ronto traders and settlers moved into the Commonwealth, it would have caused a war with the Commonwealth. The entire region, even the Institute, might have rallied against them. If they destabilized the region, kept it at war with itself, they could settle and move through the area without having to conquer Empire. They could weaken us, and then take us over, without dedicating anything more than a few specialists and some gear to train and deploy them. The Gunners recruited locally, and acted like Raiders. Once they were ready, all they had to do was stop sending them gear and training, and then they could bring in their army and take over the region. Except for two things."

"The Minutemen and the Institute."

"Hence, Quincy. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they had a hand in the Railroad, too."

Deacon looked at her, "How do you figure?"

"Well, think about it. If they can distract the Minutemen with the Gunners, how do they distract the Institute? With a rebellion. Ronto doesn't have the tech or firepower to find and destroy the Institute, but they can find it. Same tactic, different goals. If the Institute is the Commonwealth's boogeyman, Ronto is everyone's boogeyman."


	14. Concessions

"That's a pretty big theory," Zeke remarked.

"It adds up, though. Especially from what we know about King Francis. King Francis comes from a well-documented family of Raider leaders, going all the way back to Colonel Francis Wilson, who survived the Great War. He and his squad managed to eke out a living protecting local towns and extracting tribute from them in exchange. Tribute turned into racketeering, and his grandson, Francis the Third, was little more than a Raider Boss. Ever since then, Colonel Fran's Men have been the indisputable badasses of upper New York. No Raider Gang could oppose them.

"This was up until about ten years ago. Now, Colonel Fran's Men holed up on the mountains on the border. By this time, they weren't much more than wild men. Nobody messes with them, but they haven't had real 'rep' in over a generation. Suddenly, Francine the Sixth winds up dead, and her son, Francis the Seventh, takes her place. Nobody really cares, but Colonel Fran's Men record _everything,_ which is how we know when it happened. Francis VII leads his gang and expands territory some.

"Thing is, they come into odds with a new gang, the Pigskins. The Pigskins had structured themselves on the different positions from a prewar game called Football. It's a lot closer to what Moe thinks Baseball is, than what it actually was. It's silly, but the structure worked. It clearly defined each raider's role and who was in charge. Their leader, the Coach, was a ruthless man whose goal was to have the Pigskins be the most feared Raider gang in all Empire. After Francis cut off Coach's arms, he found out that Coach was also taking weapons and training from Ronto.

"Six years ago, Ronto was on one of its expansion wars. They were at war with the Cincinnati Free State again, fighting over Columbus and Lake Erie. They planned on expanding into Empire, though, and finally break the Free State after generations of fighting each other with the resources there, but they couldn't commit to a war with Cincinnati and to expansion into Empire at the same time. So they had Raiders do the plundering for them, sending weapons and ammunition in exchange for whatever the Raiders picked out. With their forces in Columbus, they were getting supplied from Empire, and they had the riches to trade with the Pitt, all at the same time.

"So, Francis kills the Coach, finds out who he was getting supplied from, and sends messages to all the other Raider Gangs: If you take guns from Ronto, you are an enemy of Colonel Fran's Men. Nobody takes him seriously, until word starts getting around that Colonel Fran's men are hijacking Ronto weapon shipments, and taking out gangs who take their guns. But Francis doesn't wipe out gangs, he kills their leaders and conscripts the survivors.

"Francis comes upon a town that's been in the middle of a fight between two Raider gangs for over a decade. He finds out that both have been taking Ronto's guns, so he strikes a deal with the town: Help him, and he'll take out both gangs at once. The town agrees, and they gang up. Mayor gets killed in the fighting, and now they're leaderless. So Francis, he says that he is their leader now, and all the towns of Empire will fall under one banner, and he puts the mayor's son in charge, after inducting him into the gang, and keeps moving.

"After that, gang after gang declares their loyalty to Francis, who can't exactly kill their leaders because they just said they were loyal to him. So he declares the Court of Empire. He has himself crowned King, and his little sister, Francine, Princess. He gives all these titles to Raider gang leaders and to his best lieutenants. He sets up this whole feudal system, where the Raider gangs pay him tribute, which they extract from towns and farms.

"Four years ago, he establishes a new system: If you fight in the name of the King, your family's tribute goes directly to the King, instead of your local Lord, which allows them to avoid the regular shakedowns and irregular taxation. Lots of people sign up for the King's Army, and it doesn't go over well with a lot of the Lords.

"Except, Francis is smarter than people gave him credit for, because he _wanted_ to spark this rebellion. He knew that a lot of his 'Lords' were still answering to Ronto, so he created the excuse they needed to rebel, by taking away the people who they could tax. Behold, there was a rebellion, backed by Ronto. Francis was prepared, though, because now he had the King's Army, and he outnumbered the rebels, and his army was familiar with the territory they were fighting over. After all, it was their own homesteads and towns.

"So Francis wins the rebellion, he's the hero of the people, and his court is still intact because he appointed new Lordships from among war heroes. And now, he had the excuse to fight Ronto. The Free State was still holding onto Columbus, but they couldn't hold it much longer. They were closer to the Pitt, but they didn't have the same resources or training as Ronto. Ronto had just taken Buffalo, which gave them easy access to the Steel Road.

"So Francis took his army, and seized Buffalo from Ronto, and moved west, pushing them out, until he comes to Cleveland, and the Free State sends a diplomat to his Court, and they form an alliance. Francis can have Cleveland, if Francis helps the Free State hold Columbus and take Toledo from Ronto. He agrees, and the war goes well. The Free State and the Court of Empire take Columbus, and push Ronto back to Detroit. By the time we had defeated the Institute, Ronto had sued for peace.

"I think the reason we were able to make so much headway in the last three years is because of that war. Since the Gunners had taken out Quincy, Ronto didn't need to supply them anymore, and so they stopped supplying them. That allowed the Minutemen to make their resurgence. It allowed the Institute to double down on the Railroad, which made the Institute get sloppy. Their energy signatures were spotted by the Brotherhood of Steel, who were eventually contacted, and came to investigate."

"And with the help of the Brotherhood, the Minutemen destroyed the Institute, and allowed the United Commonwealth to form," Deacon surmised.

"Exactly. I know this is a big history lesson, Mister President, but you need to appreciate how one thing can affect so much more. Look at this map. The Minutemen are preventing King Francis from expanding north, while Ronto expands east. We are expanding south, into what he considers his territory. I always expected a confrontation with King Francis, but now with the intelligence we've gathered, it's probable that Ronto is the much bigger threat. We can predict King Francis. He's going to deal with us head-on. He's cunning, but straightforward. Ronto likes getting big victories to cheer on their population, but they otherwise like to use puppets to do their bidding for them."

"Are we proposing we go to war with Ronto instead?" Zeke asked.

"Honestly? No. I don't want any war. I think it's perfectly a perfectly natural development for the United Commonwealth to expand north into Maine, and stop at the Ronto border. We have no reason to do that. There's no shortage of arable land, and the Commonwealth is more geared to industry anyway, with the infrastructure and expertise that we have."

"Okay. So what do you recommend?"

"Well, King Francis's war teaches us several things. He's clever. He's upfront. He's brutal, but he's honest. He's interested in trade and infrastructure. He's interested in expansion. He will also respect borders, and he can deal in diplomacy. My plan, before we founded the United Commonwealth, was to meet with him, in Champli, where our borders are most contested with his, and iron out a border treaty. I would recommend that you do the same thing."

"And what about the Brotherhood's call for assistance?" Zeke asked.

"Well, had it been up to me, I wouldn't have a choice. I would have had to resign as the General of the Minutemen, because I wouldn't drag them into the war, and I would have fought, as any Paladin would. I would have fulfilled my orders to the letter, as a Paladin. However, I did not receive that order. You received the request from Elder Maxson. As such, I am under no obligation to do anything. While that is all technically true, it also goes against the spirit of my oaths. If Elder Maxson is calling for assistance against King Francis, it is my duty to ensure he gets the assistance he needs."

"So, as the General of the Minutemen, and the lady who was leading the Commonwealth before I was, you're recommending we don't go to war. But as a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel, you are," Zeke laid it out.

"That's the easy way out, if I wanted to take the easy way out of picking a side on this issue. But I rarely make things that simple, Mister President."

"I'm listening, then."

"Maxson wants a war. He wants to firmly establish the Brotherhood as the undisputed owners of the Manhattan Death Zone and Albany and the region in between. All that's going to do is establish the Brotherhood as a new big, bad enemy in the way of King Francis's courts, and an enemy of his kingdom. This is a situation where we need to tell our friends that they're making a mistake. We need to work with King Francis, not fight him. He _will_ find a way to undermine the Brotherhood's aerial superiority. He might take to tunnels, he might find a way to shoot down aircraft, or build his own, who knows.

"But as much as he looks like a Raider, King Francis is something new, something unique. He isn't Caesar, because he isn't enslaving people. He isn't the Institute, because he isn't replacing people. We can't think of him as being just another bad guy, because he's our neighbor. Maybe he'll get deposed next year and the Court of Empire will collapse. Maybe he'll outlive us all. Maybe we can take him in a war, maybe he'll flatten us, I don't know, but that's not the point, that's not the principle. The principle is that we are better off making friends than we are making new enemies.

"The lesson Maxson needs to remember, is that of the Brotherhood War with the NCR: Even with the tech, the Brotherhood is not invincible, and the Brotherhood is stronger when it stands with friends. Be the third voice, and strike a deal with King Francis that the Brotherhood, the Courts, and the Commonwealth can all live with."

"Now that's a lot more the sort of thing I'm thinking of," Zeke nodded, "How do we get Maxson to agree to meet Francis?"

Zeke looked to Brandis, who shifted in his seat.

"The promise of technology, mostly. The Brotherhood is dedicated to the recover and rediscovery of technology and history. If you can convince Elder Maxson that King Francis will tolerate our mission, Maxson might listen to what you have to say," Brandis said.

"Will you help?"

Brandis looked to Nora, then back to Zeke.

"Hell, I've gotten this far listening to Sentinel Killinger. I don't see any reason to stop now."

* * *

The Gwinnett Restaurant had been cleared out by the Minutemen just before retaking the Castle. Three years later, it had been cleaned up, and was serving travelers food once again, and was Nora's favorite place to have lunch when she ripped spare time out of the jaws of responsibility. Even then, it was often as a means of speaking with people she couldn't normally be seen speaking to as the General of the Minutemen. Leadership is a full time job.

So it was under the pretext of 'lunch' that she had come out once again, to one of the discrete booths, where she had arranged to meet with Quentin, two days after speaking with Zeke. She felt awful, not telling Zeke, the President she had endorsed and campaign for, every detail of what was going on. The truth of the matter is that she simply didn't have all the information she needed to present to him in any kind of formal capacity.

To her surprise, Quentin was not alone. Desdemona was there, wearing a blonde wig and sunglasses and a modest dress, eerily reminding Nora of Deacon's proclivity for an array of outfits and disguises.

"Ma'am," she nodded to her.

"Professor," she nodded back, and Nora sat. The food had been served just as Nora had arrived; they knew what Nora liked. Without saying anything else, Nora tucked into her salad and Mirelurk casserole.

"So," Nora began, with that first biting of hunger satiated and still plenty of lunch left to go through, "I take it I don't have to make introductions."

"No. I found your little project all on my own, thank you," Desdemona affirmed, cutting into her steak and taking a bite.

"So you found him. I'm impressed," Nora admitted.

"You may have taken the Railroad in for your own purposes, but they still remember our mission. I still have pull in the-what are we called now, the BID?" Desdemona raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Not my acronym. So what brings you out to lunch, Desdemona?"

"Well, when I found Quentin, I just had to know the truth about Armitage. He was one of my first rescues, you know. I'm glad to know he's doing well for himself. Then we got to talking. We have a lot in common, it seems."

"Indeed. So, Quentin, if you want to convince me that Elder Maxson is a traitor and murderer, your timing is now. With any luck, we're going to know exactly where he is for at least a week. So if we're going to make a move, it will have to be then, when we know where he is and what he's doing."

"Why, what's going on?" he asked.

"State secrets. Not going to tell you. Do you have proof?"

"Yes," he said, "But I don't have it with me."

"I do," Desdemona said. Nora scowled at her.

"How? What do you have?"

"I have a spy in the Brotherhood. They're not an asset you know about, but they're high ranking, and they were able to get proof that Elder Maxson is responsible for the death of Elder Sarah Lyons," Desdemona informed her.

"Do you _have_ it? I need to see it," Nora said.

"What do _I_ get?" she demanded, "Because from where I'm sitting you've disassembled everything I've worked for in my life. Why should I trust you?"

Nora leaned forward, and hissed, "Because I accomplished your mission _for_ you. Now your mission, of protecting Synths, _is_ my mission. The Colonel leading the BID is a Synth. There are at least four Minutemen officers at least Captain or above who are Synths. If Maxson finds out about them, there will be a _war._ This is the best way to make sure that war doesn't happen."

"Good. You understand the stakes, then," she smiled, and dug into her pocket, pulling out a holotape, "This is the only known copy of Sarah Lyons' journal, since she was a little girl. Details nobody could have known are in here. The last entries are about how Arthur came onto her, and she turned him down, and recorded her concerns about him. I'm not talking about boyhood crush sorts of things, either. I'm talking about the kinds of things that would get people put on medication before the war."

"I know this isn't _proof,_ " Quentin said, "Not anything we could use to depose him. I have that, but it's in the Capital Wasteland. But read it, and it will convince you that I'm not lying. Arthur is a monster, has been since he was a kid, I'm sure of that now. He just hid it, as eagerness to learn how to be a Brother. After all, when your family business is war, being bloodthirsty just seems like being excited."

"How did you get a contact in the high Brotherhood?" Nora asked.

"It was just after Paladin Danse's 'execution.' After you stopped working with the Brotherhood, and started working with the Minutemen to defeat the Institute. They found us, wanting to join. Avenge Danse. We found a better use for them, over taking them in. They got this for us, from the Citadel."

"Avenge Danse…? Who would-" Nora's eyes went wide, " _Haylen?_ "

Desdemona winced, "Yes, Haylen."

"Haylen is a _scribe,_ she couldn't have access to this."

"Not anymore. She's…Much higher up now."

Haylen's stomach bottomed out. Every feeling, every nerve turned to dread. She felt the air leak out of her lungs, and her muscles turned to fire. Her situation was bad enough. She'd planned everything out so carefully, but now everything had been thrown out the window. It was all going so perfectly before, but now it was wrecked. She had to improvise.

Maxson sat on the couch, looking the box over. Not saying anything, just turning it over in his hands, studying it as if it were a peculiar piece of technology. Which, its contents had been, certainly nothing that was being produced these days, but the science was well understood and could be replicated easily enough, so its use hadn't been any kind of egregious error. Still, him finding it crushed everything Haylen had planned to handle this situation.

Improvise. She could turn this around. This was not irreparable.

Haylen slinked in behind him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, grabbing the box.

"Isn't this _wonderful?"_ she asked him. He didn't let go, showing the 'Happy Accident' label with the pregnant Pip-Girl grinning bashfully. She rubbed her hand against the side of his head, along his scar, "Now there will be no question about the future of the Brotherhood. And it's all because of you."

He finally reacted, turning his head to her, "Your contributions have not been insubstantial, Senior Scribe Haylen."

They kissed, and she grinned, "Yeah, I am pretty good, aren't I?"

"The best," he affirmed, kissing her again. They then made love, taking it to their bedroom. He arose a few hours later, some other Brotherhood business to attend to. When he was out, and gone for at least half an hour, she slid onto his computer, and started in on it. She heard the door open. Acting quickly, she slid a holotape into the computer.

"What are you doing?" Arthur demanded. She looked up.

"Oops. You caught me."

He glanced at the 'Pip Fall' title screen on his computer. He rolled his eyes and grinned, "Video games are such a silly girl thing. Have fun, but turn it off when you're done."

"Of course," she promised, and he grabbed a holotape from his desk, and left. As soon as he was gone again, Haylen went back to digging in his files again. This time, she grinned.

"I have you now you son of a bitch."


	15. Apocalyptic Diplomacy

Daisy had been a lot of things in her time. She had spent her years before the war as a truck driver of all things, moving goods around the Commonwealth from labs to factories to stores and back. It had been a good living, working as a blue collar independent woman in a time where such a lifestyle was frowned upon, but she had prospects, and good ones, too. Then the bombs fell, and they took her skin, her humanity, her life, her prospects, everything.

She had been a scavenger, a beggar, a junkie, a mugger, an assassin. Most recently, she was a caravan driver and a store owner. But this, in her nearly three hundred years of life, she never expected to be, of all things, a diplomat. She wondered why she'd been picked for it. She wondered how she'd been recommended.

It was books, she decided. Daisy loved to read, to the point she had once hired Nora and MacCready to clear out the Boston Public Library. She loved to learn, and to prepare for this meeting, she'd had a lot to learn. Daisy thought she knew a lot about the different factions in the Wasteland along the Steel Road, but the Court of Empire was its own monster.

King Francis held Winter Court in his hometown, a little village nestled in the mountains. Even with weather being what it was since the Great War, it was snowy here. Ghouls didn't do well in snow. The Court of Empire was spending time building up buildings, using actual masonry. It was easy to tell which buildings had been constructed as experiments, and which were projects built for the wealth and glory of King Francis. The experiment buildings were odd and often mismatched with styles and materials, while the ones built for King Francis were being set up as these tall, intimidating behemoths meant to make the viewer feel tiny.

Oddly enough, the only churches in town were prewar. None of these were built as places of worship. Francis was creating libraries, laboratories, workshops, and schools. None of them were complete, but he had hundreds-HUNDREDS-of workers toiling away at them.

Court was held in the old City Hall, an ugly square brick building in the middle of town. The interior, however, was lined with artifacts. Armor, polished and refurbished, from great victories. Murals and statues lined the walls. Portraits of the Lords in their fanciest and most outrageous garbs. It was a celebration of their vanity at first glance, but Daisy was nothing if not observant. Between the great portraits and nude statues were humble pieces of art. One was a piece of treated bark, drawn on with charcoal, depicting the Burning of Buffalo. It showed people fleeing the city, opposite in the direction of the Armies of the King.

Another was a photograph. Daisy recognized it as Lord Sivus, the boy Lord whose town had been liberated by King Francis from between two Raider Gangs. Sivus's father, the former Mayor, had died in the fighting, but Francis ascended the boy to a status equal that of his lieutenants. Shortly after that battle, Francis crowned himself King, and Sivus became a Lord. He had been fourteen then; Sivus was a man now, a veteran and, reportedly, a fair leader. The photograph was not of Sivus in his Yao Guai skin coat and his Mirelurk scale shield, but him as a boy, wearing clothes too big for him, with a rifle much too large for him to handle, sitting on a stump, staring into the horizon.

"Wise eyes see these pieces," a voice from behind her spoke. Daisy turned, and saw Lady Blutarch. She had been the first of the Ronto-backed Raiders bosses to swear fealty to King Francis. Now she wore a blue cape and suit, lined with yellow-or possibly actual gold-lace. The back of the cape had the numbers '99.' She had a cane that was thicker at the bottom, shaped suspiciously like a baseball bat, but was much too long. Lady Blutarch was young, in her early thirties, but she had wrinkles and sun damage covered by makeup, and a scar along her nose and cheek she hadn't even bothered hiding, though the chip in her nostril had been filled in with a bit of mother of pearl.

"What do you mean?" Daisy asked.

"This hall, all this art. Most of it was made in the last year, commissioned to intimidate and awe. But between the pieces, between the grandeur, you see the grit. You see the raw stuff of it. This whole exhibit is a piece. All one piece of art, designed to cripple the weak and attract the inquisitive. The portraits inspire, show our greatness, but this!" she pointed to the photo, "This teaches us. This reminds us of what brought us to where we are, the sacrifices we have made. I knew Lord Sivus as a boy. _This_ was the boy, filling his father's role best he could, but _now_ he is a man. And here, the Niagara Massacre, where we remembered that we, too, can be monsters. We can make the rivers run red with the blood of the innocent when we find ourselves arrogant. Both are humbling, in their own way. What does the art of the Commonwealth say about your country?"

"My country's idea of 'art' was cartoons and robot horses," Daisy replied, "I'm not sure if I consider the Commonwealth _my_ country."

"Have you always lived there?"

"No, I've traveled and lived all up and down the coast. I was born there, though, before the war."

"Then you, of all people, have more invested in the Commonwealth than anyone else. You have seen it at its height and at its lowest. The question is, ma'am, do you _embrace_ the changes you have created for your world, or do you leave it behind? Since you are traveled, you have the luxury of truly saying it is not your country, but you have shaped it.

"The fact that you are here, representing them, means you have accepted some kind of responsibility. Or, perhaps, it has been thrust upon you. Unlike many, you have the choice: Is the Commonwealth your country? Most cannot say no to that question, because they have lived nowhere else, been molded by nothing else, and influenced nothing else. Empire is my country, since I have lived nowhere else, except on campaign. So, I cannot say that I am of any other nation."

"You're well-spoken for a Raider Boss," Daisy remarked. Calling the Lords 'Raiders' was an insult that could be overlooked by anyone who wasn't Nobility, but Lady Blutarch seemed to catch onto Daisy's calculation by giving her a scowl.

"I am _High Lady of the Court._ I have _earned_ and _embraced_ my place, and all it entails."

"Of course, forgive me, Lady Blutarch. I'm Daisy Jameson."

"A pleasure to meet you, Honorable Jameson. To clarify your observation, I grew up in a Vault before taking to the outside. Hence the blue and yellow."

"What was that like?"

"Vault Ninety-Nine was inhabited entirely by infertile couples. After the general population realized this, they overthrew the Overseer, and opened the Vault, taking in orphans from the Wasteland."

"That sounds pretty rough."

"Indeed. Eventually, they started accepting fertile couples, raising children, and releasing them into the Wasteland, with the intention they would return with new experiences to raise their families. Me and a few of my friends decided to fight for our riches instead. After I joined King Francis, I returned to Ninety-Nine, and now _I_ am its Overseer. I saw little reason to change tradition, though it is all for the glory of Empire and the Court."

"Of course."

"The King would be most pleased to meet you, Your Excellence. He is eager to learn more of the United Commonwealth. If you would follow me?" she offered her hand, and Daisy took it, allowing herself to be led upstairs to the Mayor's office. There was a Deathclaw head mounted on the wall, and a stuffed Yao Guai in the corner. A series of preserved hands lined one wall in jars. Behind the big, red chair was a portrait of King Francis himself, with his dashing moustache, black hair and dark skin, wearing painted combat armor with exaggerated pauldrons, making him look like a Knight in Combat Armor, standing on a hill with the brilliant flash of explosions in the distance, lighting up the full moon sky. In one hand he held a shotgun. In the other, he held a spear with a barbed tip with his personal flag on the end of it. On his desk was a simple wooden carving of some kind of large feline being slain buy a hunter with a spear with a barbed tip-the same kind in the painting.

In the chair was King Francis himself, wearing a fluffy fur coat. Sitting next to him was his sister, Princess Francine, who sat next to a map of the East Coast.

"Ambassador, welcome to my Winter Court. I trust you've been accommodated since your arrival?" he stood and bowed. She bowed in return.

"You have been a most gracious host," Daisy announced.

"Excellent! Please, sit. Lady Blutarch, thank you for delivering her to me, please accompany us."

"My pleasure, your Majesty," Blutarch bowed, and took a seat next to Daisy.

"Please forgive me, your Excellence, I was not given your name when your government informed me they were sending an Ambassador."

"Daisy Jameson, your Majesty."

"Jameson. A solid, Old World name, I like it. And a Ghoul! That I did not expect. So many ignore the wisdom that comes with the Ancient Walkers. My mother did not heed the warnings of a Ghoul, and she was consumed by madness. But I did, and it brought me to many victories."

"I'm an old associate of the General of the Minutemen, and I'm well-traveled," Daisy informed him.

Francis leaned back in his chair and said, "Yes, this General Killinger. I'm not sure what to make of her. Near as I can tell she's made it her life's work to kill men like me, and yet she sends a diplomat to my courts. Rather unexpected, if I do say."

"Nor-The General has a lot of influence. But she didn't send me. The President did."

King Francis grinned as he said, "Of course. So what is it the Commonwealth is interesting in speaking of with me?"

"It's the Brotherhood of Steel, and your conflict in Albany. The United Commonwealth owes a great deal to the Brotherhood. We are allies. The President and the Assembly wish to engage in diplomacy, before one of you does something rash."

"Why not join your 'allies' in the conflict? Why not just take what you want from us?"

"The United Commonwealth has no interest in war, and we do not want your land. All we ask is that you take the effort to engage in diplomacy, before war is ignited. If you go to war with the Brotherhood, then the Commonwealth will be dragged into the conflict. This only benefits our enemies."

"You speak of Ronto?"

"Ronto is a sovereign nation we have yet to engage in diplomatic relations with," Daisy stated flatly.

"Of course. Well, if the Brotherhood is willing to speak with us, I will hear what they have to say, then. Are they going to send their own ambassador, am I sending one to the Commonwealth…?"

"We were hoping for a summit, in Champli. The Commonwealth also wishes to more clearly define our borders with the Court of Empire, write treaties, generally conduct diplomacy. In the meantime, we were hoping to broker a cease-fire between the Court and the Brotherhood, and prevent…Escalations."

"I cannot guarantee that the Lords will adhere to a cease-fire. I may have educated myself in these matters, but many of them thirst for glory. A cease-fire would be…Impractical to enforce," he admitted. Lady Blutarch tapped her cane on the ground, a polite way of announcing she wished to speak without interjecting on her king. He looked at her and said, "Your thoughts, Lady Blutarch?"

"I have a suggestion, for the cease-fire. If the Brotherhood limits its Power Armor units, you can pull back the King's Army. The Lords would be eager for the chance to claim Albany, so we would not lose our position, while giving the Brotherhood a sign of good faith. All the Lords would be expected to adhere to good manners with the Brotherhood, but they could still claim more of the city, while allowing the Brotherhood scribes to recover artifacts," Lady Blutarch offered, regarding her nails.

"Do you think the Brotherhood would accept those terms?" King Francis asked.

"Right now, they're the only ones we've got," Daisy said.


	16. Briefing

"So what's the Mayor's name?" Zeke asked.

"We, um…We actually don't _know_ the Mayor's name. He's just…The Mayor of Champli," Deacon admitted, "Truth be told we don't know a lot about Champli or its history, except they've made their living fighting the monsters of the lake."

"The BID doesn't know the _name_ of one of our most influential leaders?" Zeke lowered his sunglasses.

"It never came up. He's just…Mister Mayor," Deacon shrugged.

"Hey, it's cool. These things happen, a lot's been going on. So what _do_ we know?"

"They make their living fighting monsters of the lake and processing them into tools. They used to be a series of tribals for decades, but they slowly organized into towns, especially in the last five years. That was when the Mayor came into power, and stood up against King Francis's attempt to annex the local tribes. The other towns and tribes decided they liked him, and he's been their leader ever since," Deacon explained.

"I know we're supposed to be working with King Francis, but I gotta give Champli props for standing up to him. He sounds like a bully to me," Zeke remarked.

"Yeah, always taking people's lunch money and giving wedgies."

"So is there some kind of cultural thing I shouldn't do, like sneeze in front of deer or something like that?"

"The tribals of Champli are pretty chill people, they like sharing stuff. We've already made sure you had plenty of gifts to distribute."

"Oh that's very generous of me."

"You are a generous man, Mister President. Now there's something very odd about the town the Mayor comes from, it was founded only thirteen years ago, and even that was before the Mayor showed up, which is even sooner than that. We aren't sure what it is, but they have a lot more training and organization than anyone else.

"We think they may have been Ronto outcasts or a group of mercenaries. They don't let anyone into their compound unless their trust has been earned. They don't like being asked too many questions, but they're good people, at least since the Mayor took over. They run a hospital and a school, and send assistance to the tribes and other towns.

"They weren't like that before the Mayor took over. They were militant and shot at everyone that came near and sometimes ran kill-squads to tribes that got too close. That doesn't go away in five years. They've got some kind of secret, so we have to be careful."

"Eaugh…Is there _anyone_ that isn't genocidal these days?"

"There is you, Mister President."

"Well, I got that going for me at least."

"We do have one 'in', though. A recruit. A Minuteman, who just graduated from his Advanced Training. He's from that town, and maybe he can tell us more. Should I bring him along?"

"Hey, Deacon, when am I going to have any ideas or contributions to make? You know, as President? When does the whole 'lead our country into the future' thing start happening?" Zeke asked.

"We could pencil that in next Tuesday, Mister President."

"Oh, okay, I just wanted to be sure."

"Joking aside, Mister President, I know this has all been a bit of a rush. You've basically picked up General Killinger's agenda. If it wasn't you doing this, it would be her, and she already had these machinations running. But if there's a particular issue you'd like to focus on, everyone in the government is waiting for your say-so."

"I think we should have an official poet," Zeke declared. Deacon grinned.

"Well, you'll have to talk to the Assembly about that one, but it's a good idea. What about a, uh, a Presidential Polka Festival?"

"What's Polka?"

"Oh you have _no_ idea what you're missing."

* * *

Private Elwood Burnett stepped into the Presidential Manor, once Faneuil Hall. He handed his transfer papers to the door guard, who ushered him in and, to his surprise, escorted him not to the guard rooms for briefing, but up and into the Presidential areas, and, in fact, directly to the President.

"Uh, what's been going on?"

"You've been assigned to the Presidential detail," the guard informed him.

"What? How, who-"

"The Presidential Guard will fill you in," the guard left him at the President's door. He scratched his arm, and knocked. Someone opened the door for him, sizing him up. He showed his papers to this guard, who let him inside, and exited the room, leaving Elwood in the same room as the President, the head of the BID, Colonel Violet, and a bald man with sunglasses and a white shirt.

"Mister President!" he saluted, "Private Burnett reporting for duty, sir!"

"That's still weird. Is that weird for anyone else? That's weird for me. At ease, take a seat, soldier."

"S-Sir, thank you, sir," he sat.

"Fresh out of Boot," Colonel Violet tisked.

"Advance Deployment, ma'am," he corrected.

"Right."

"Well, we don't need you for any of that. I mean, we do, we need good soldiers like you. I read your report, you were at the top of your class. Highest marks on the tests, best times. Good leadership skills. Bit of a smartass," the President flipped through a folder.

"Uh, thank you, Mister President."

"I like that. You didn't let the Minutemen change you any more than it had to. I think you'll do well."

"Thank you, Mister President."

"But, like I said, that's not why you're here. You're our first recruit from Champli. That's a big deal, and you've measured up. Right now, though, I need you more as a local than I need you as a Minuteman. I'm about to visit Champli, and I need to know more. I need to meet the Mayor, talk them into something. I was hoping you'd be willing to be my guide."

Burnett grinned, "Of course, Mister President."

"This whole 'Mister President' thing makes me feel like a square," Zeke muttered, "So tell me about the Mayor, who is he? Does he have a name? What do I need to know?"

"He's just…The Mayor. When he first arrived he was just Doc. He started working with the Tribals, and we started trading for stuff, instead of fighting them, and eventually he was the Mayor. I don't think he goes by any other names except Mister Mayor. Sir."

"Well, what about your town? Where did you guys come from?" Zeke asked.

"My dad was part of an army, sir. I was just a kid back then, I don't know anything about it. None of the older people talk about it, except amongst themselves. They tell us it's bad luck to talk about it, but they've already had the bad luck, so it's OK. Sounds like they just did some really nasty stuff back in the day, though, and just wanted to live in peace after leaving it behind."

"So you don't even know what they were called, who you worked for?"

"No, Mister President. Just that we came from the southwest."

"So, not Ronto."

"No, sir."

"So, we want to hold a summit, between ourselves, King Francis, and the Brotherhood, and we want Champli to host it. I mean, we're all one government now, but we don't know much about you, and this seemed like a good chance to learn more. What was it like?"

Burnett fidgeted, "We're not supposed to talk about growing up in the Airport, Mister President. My folks are real paranoid like that."

"That's all right, I just want something that will help us out."

"Well, if you want to be on the Mayor's good side, you'll want to help out with stuff, like medical supplies and schools and teaching people how to farm. Just help out, really. Everyone else in the Airport are more complicated. The want to see that the Minutemen and the Commonwealth are going to keep them safe. They don't much care for our neighbors-I mean, I grew up hanging out with the Tribals, so I think they're neat. But the older folks, they see them as primitives. Not to be exterminated, but certainly to keep them at arm's length. The Mayor's way worked, though. Turned them into friends, instead of enemies, so they go along with it."

"So they got boundaries. Respect them. I can do that," Zeke nodded, "What about the tribes?"

"Well, there's the tribes and then there's the towns. They were, for a long time, the same thing, but some of the tribes settled down to trade, and started acting like other places, like in Ronto or Buffalo or the Commonwealth. Suits and hats and caps and complaining about their neighbors' dog. Some of the towns have kept their old rituals, others insist they're 'civilized' now. They all speak slightly different version of the same Piglish, though."

"P-Piglish?" Zeke asked.

"Um…Sorry, that's a really rude term for it. Pig English. Like English, but not. You can understand them if you speak English, it just takes some getting used to. A lot of them, especially in the towns, they speak good old fashioned American like you and me. But some like to stick to their own languages."

"What do I need to know about the Tribals?"

"They like technology, in their own way. They've got their own bit of genius with it, taking it apart and putting it back together in a way that makes sense to them. I once helped a guy turn a toaster into a crossbow that fired heated rocks. One tribe, the Rusters, they tried taking over the entire region with an army of robots. They tried attacking the airport once, and we came down on them _hard._ That was sort of how we started to work with our neighbors. The other Tribes, they left us gifts, so we stopped sending out patrols to drive them away. Then the Mayor came along, and everything's been great since then."

"Yeah, we're familiar with them."

"I heard about that. Anyway, the only thing you can't really do is imply that they can't take care of themselves, because they'll just sort of try to prove that they can. In fact, that's sort of a rule of thumb, don't say they _can't_ do something. Because then they will."

"So why do you think the Mayor let the Minutemen move in?"

"I think the Mayor knew he had to be part of something bigger. I think something happened to people he cared about. He doesn't talk about it. Now he sees the same thing happening again, and he wants to choose how it happens. That, and he wants to keep King Francis out of Champli."

"All right. I think I've got everything I need, what about you guys?"

"Well it's a good start," Colonel Violet said, "I'll be sending a contingent of Minutemen out that way to bolster security anyway, and we can learn more specifics from them, as well."

"I look forward to having a peek at them," Deacon remarked.

"All right. I think that's everything for now. Hey, Burnett, do you like to play with Tech?"

"I know my way around a wrench, sure."

"Aw, you have got to see what the Atom Cats have been working on! We didn't have the parts before, but we got some new eggheads from the Brotherhood helping out, and it's done! Come on!"

Zeke leaped out of his seat and ushered the Private out, and around the corner into a parking garage that had been converted into a machine shop. Suits of Power Armor, heavy weapons, generators, and other machines were being assembled and fixed up here. There was one area that had curtains around it, and heavily guarded.

"All right, prepare to have your _mind_ blown, kid," Zeke pulled on a lever, yanking back the curtains, "I've been trying to build one since I started the Atom Cats. I figured Power Armor was the next best thing, but once I got to talking to Doc Li, it was just too good to pass up, dig?"

"Is this what I think it is?" Elwood reached out his hand, but dared not touch it.

"A restored General Atomic American Motors Tornado. Modified with an extended cab to hold up to five passengers, and a specialized trunk capable of holding one suit of Power Armor up to a T-60. It can recharge using a power station that can be hooked up to any power source, including a standard Fusion Core or Fission Battery to charge it right up. _This_ is how we're gonna go to Champli. In _style._ "

"Oh, man. I heard that someone had gotten a Highwayman to run a long time ago, but this an _honor_ to behold, Mister President."

"Innit? You, uh…Wanna go for a ride?"

"I'm pretty sure there are PSA's about getting into cars with new people, but the Old World was filled with bad advice. So yes please, Mister President."


	17. Preparations

"Wow. Just…Wow. That is _impressive,_ " the Mayor announced as he approached the car. Zeke grinned.

"Innit? Hi, I'm President Zeke Felix of the United Commonwealth. You must be the Mayor?"

"I knew you said you had transportation but I didn't expect this," the Mayor was still ogling the car. He was an older gentleman, wearing a lab coat and black rimmed glasses. He had blonde hair that was turning white and a broad, handsome face.

"Yeah. I had help, but I've been building this baby for _years._ I finally decided, hey, if I'm gonna leave something to the Presidency, it might as well be _style._ "

"This is…An honor, Mister President. To meet you, that is. And to see your car. Just, wow…"

"Oh, this is Private Burnett, Minutemen, I believe you know him."

"Mister Mayor," Burnett nodded.

"Elwood, good to see you again. You're doing well for yourself so far," the Mayor greeted.

"Yes, sir."

"And this is Colonel Violet, the head of our Intelligence Bureau, and my Security Chief. She's here to make sure I stay safe," Zeke motioned. Colonel Violet nodded.

"Good to meet you, ma'am," the Mayor said to her.

"And you."

"And this is Agent D, also of the BID. He's also here for my security."

"Yes, I recall him," the Mayor remarked coldly.

"How's your Autodoc doing, Doc?" Deacon asked.

"It's fine, no thanks to you," the Mayor growled.

"Good! I knew I didn't break it that badly."

"Anywhere we can pull up and talk?" Zeke asked.

"Why don't you come on in? It's cold outside, and you don't know the area," the Mayor gestured over his shoulder to the Airport, which had long been converted into an entire town. They drove in, parking in what had once actually been a parking lot, though now it was used more as an outdoor marketplace. The people of the Airport gawked and a crowd gathered around them, pushing and shoving to see the car. Zeke stepped out of the vehicle and started waving at people, smiling.

"Hey folks! Why don't you make a line? Everyone can get a chance to see the car, just nobody push now, all right?" Zeke started herding people into some semblance of order, letting a few people come closer at a time. One old timer, someone much older than the Mayor, came up and demanded,

"Who are you, and why do you have a car?"

"I'm President Zeke Felix, of the United Commonwealth. I'm from Boston," he told them.

"I didn't vote for you," the old man insisted. Zeke frowned.

"Yeah, I...I didn't run. I was chosen, by the Assembly. I know how it looks, but I assure you, this is the only time that'll happen, we're gonna have elections every four years," Zeke promised.

"That's what the last guy said," the older timer grumbled, going back to study the car.

"Well, I'm not-The...I'm not the last guy," Zeke tried to tell him, but he wasn't listening anymore, "Didn't even ask for this job..."

"Well, you're doing great, Mister Pres-" Deacon tried to reassure him.

"I don't need a pep talk," Zeke snapped, and Deacon just nodded. Nobody else was close enough to hear it, but Zeke instantly regretted it. Zeke looked to the Mayor and said, "It's been a long ride. Can we rest for the night, pick up tomorrow?"

"Of course, you can stay in my house. Don't worry, there's plenty of room for all of us there," the Mayor said. People would continue to awe at the car, but without the keys or the main wires, which Zeke kept on his person, nobody would be able to steal it.

* * *

The Mayor's house was built out of metal and wood, but it was comfortable and homely in that Wasteland Homestead kind of way. It was built practically, to accommodate a large crowd if need be. It had a spacious kitchen, a sizable living room with several couches, two bedrooms, and even a laboratory, which the Mayor kept shut. Zeke was given the spare bedroom. He sat on the bed, staring at the wall.

There was a knock on the door, and Zeke opened the door.

"Hey, Mister President. Can I come in?"

"Sure," Zeke let him inside, and Zeke shut the door behind him.

"Listen, about earlier, that was out of line."

"No, you were just trying to help," Zeke reassured him.

"No, actually, it was. You're the President, our leader. You aren't a kid being shuttled around. And you're right, you didn't ask for this job. It was given to you, and nobody really gave you a choice in the matter. It's not even that you 'deserve a voice' in the matter, your voice is the only one that _does,_ at least when it comes to stuff like this. This is one of those 'it's lonely at the top' sorts of deals. I know how that is."

"You were one of those Railroad cats, weren't you?"

"Most of the BID was, sir."

"Why'd you switch? Why work for the Minutemen, and work for me?"

"Because it's what we've been fighting for this whole time. Liberty, freedom, justice? The Railroad focused on those things for Synths, and this is the best way to keep that up. Now, it's the best way to keep that up for everyone, not just them. Truth be told, I was just following Nora. But she chose you to do this job, and I trust her judgment. She picked someone she knew could handle the job, believe me."

"How do I stop feeling like I'm an imposter?" Zeke asked, "That I shouldn't be here, that it should be someone else? Because I gotta be honest, I've been feeling that since I was an Atom Cat. I lost good folks to the dumbest of things. Always felt like it should have been someone else leading."

"Oh that never goes away, trust me. That's a good thing. The only time you should be worried is when you're totally confident that you've done the right thing, and you don't let yourself think any other way. But you can't get stuck in making no decision, either. Trust your gut. Go with what's most natural to you, and if you piss someone in power off, then hey, you're probably doing the right thing."

"That sounds about right," Zeke nodded, "Thanks, Agent."

"My pleasure, Mister President."

* * *

"Knight Rhys, reporting for duty, Ma'am," a Brotherhood soldier stood in her office doorway. Nora gawked, and zipped up her bag.

"Uh, hello, Rhys. It's...Good to see you?"

"Thank you, Ma'am," he replied.

"So, uh, what's this about?" She asked.

"Ma'am, I've been assigned directly to your command," he produced a folder, which she took and read over. It checked out; he had been assigned directly to her command by High Paladin Koening. She knew Koening, he was a bureaucrat and a fierce Maxson supporter.

"I didn't know Sentinels could be assigned personnel," Nora remarked.

"Yes, Ma'am, but your orders are your own discretion, Ma'am."

"It's okay to call me 'Nora,' Rhys, we've known each other long enough. I have enough people calling me 'Ma'am' and 'General,' but you and I have been part of the same unit. We're both Paladin Danse's Initiates. We're closer than most. I thought you were in Albany?"

"Yes, I was, but I was assigned here after 'violating the ceasefire.' We encountered a pack of Feral Ghouls, and were cleansing them, when we stumbled on a group of Raiders, who fired on us. I did what I had to do, but one of them must have gotten away, because I was given a demerit and removed from the operation. Then I was sent here," he explained.

"Well, I don't have any use for you, Rhys. I've got too much going on, and I can't plan out your missions for you. Not unl-" she stopped, and looking him up and down, "Not unless you're willing to walk in Power Armor for a few days."

"I'd be honored, ma'am."

"I was just going to wear my T-45, but you can wear Paladin Danse's old suit. Just in case. We could use the extra protection at the Summit, and it would be good to show that the Minutemen and the Brotherhood are allies. What do you know about the Summit?"

"President Felix has invited King Francis to treatise with Elder Maxson."

"Yeah. So if you're going to be seen with me, you're there as my armor-bearer. You're there as _my_ bodyguard. Which means no remarks to the Minutemen, no insulting the King's men, and nobody else short of Elder Maxson can give you orders, clear?"

"Yes, Ma-Yes."

"Good. Here are some caps, get yourself some supplies for the trip, we're caravanning to Champli. We'll be on foot for three and a half days, minus delays for snow or ambushes."

He took the caps, and went to the Castle market to get what he needed. Nora followed him out, to where the caravan was waiting for them. They had twenty Minutemen, a trio of Atom Cats, and a few merchants in their group. Normally such a large group would be extraordinarily slow, but they were taking a well-known route that was already being cleared ahead of them. Besides, if four Steel Knights wasn't going to keep them safe, safe just wasn't going to happen.

"Who's the beefcake?" Quentin, in one of the Atom Cat armors, asked. He was disguising himself because he'd had surgery to bring back his original face. The summit was partially a farce; they were going to confront Elder Maxson with the evidence they had, and depose him. With that, they could reenstate Quentin as High Paladin, and keep the Brotherhood continuity together after the rest of the leadership accepted him as Elder.

"Knight Rhys. He was part of my unit when I joined the Brotherhood, he's been assigned to me. He's coming with us," she explained.

"Yeah, no way. We don't know who this guy's loyalty to! He's got spy written all over him."

"Rhys is a good man," another one of the Atom Cats remarked, "I've served with him for years. Once he realizes what's going on, he'll do the right thing."

"Wait, who are _you?"_ Quentin demanded.

"This is Paladin Danse. He's the one who sponsored me into the Brotherhood, and taught Rhys. He'll be one of our witnesses. He's also proof that Maxson's anti-Synth policies are insane," Nora explained.

"I don't like these changes," Quentin hissed.

"Deal with it. I don't answer to you, not yet. Until then, this is _my_ show."

Rhys approached in Danse's armor, "I'm ready to go."

"Good. Let me get into my armor, and we'll be set."

Nora walked off to get into her armor. Rhys looked at the Atom Cats, Quentin and Danse.

"Hello. I'm Rocky, and this is Tantrum," Danse greeted Rhys.

"Uh...Hi...I'm Knight Rhys."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. That armor suits you," Danse remarked.

"Yeah, those are some tight plates," Quentin added.

"I'm actually very comfortable in the suit," Rhys corrected.

"Good, good, your Plates should feel like a glove, you dig, boss?" Quentin shook his arms to demonstrate, his armor clanking.

"Yeah. I dig. H-How do you know the Sentinel?"

"Aww, Jack, the Professor and I are like a reflection of each other," Quentin declared, "We've been moddin' and crusin' since we met."

"Oh, that sounds like, uh, a lot of fun, I guess...Well, good to meet you two."

Rhys turned, and walked towards the front of the caravan. Quentin punched Danse in the chest, just enough to make a 'clank.'

"Hey! Watch it!"

"I don't care what you two used to be to each other, but now you're everything he's been taught to hate. You aren't his teacher, you're an abomination to him. You need to remember that," Quentin growled.

"Don't you think I know that? I live with that every day of my life. For someone who was supposed to be the leader of the Brotherhood, you have a lot to learn about the bonds of being in a unit."

"I don't need a lecture from you. I lost everything in Maxson's coup. I lost the men and women I'd built those bonds with. They were killed or broken or turned into monsters. So don't tell me what it's like to be in a unit, to serve alongside my Brothers and Sisters. The Brotherhood was the only family I had left."

Danse took a couple of breaths, "You're right. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. We've had a rough go at this, and I gotta be honest, I didn't expect to make it this far. But, this time next week? We're both going to be where we need to be. Back in the Brotherhood of Steel."


	18. The Summit

The summit was to be held in an old ski resort at the top of a mountain. It had a light covering of snow, but not enough to make use of it for its original purpose. Zeke and the Mayor had spent most of their time talking about technology and coming up with plans for new social services that could reach Champli and reading poetry to each other. Most of Zeke's anxieties had melted away as he had gotten to know the people of Champli more. Sure they talked funny but they were generous and loved to talk tech. He spoke of his own 'Tribe,' the Atom Cats, and how they were iron warriors that defended the innocent from bandits, and how they allied with the Minutemen to do even more good. They, in turn, had a wealth of fables and tales to tell. His favorite was about a town and tribe had once been one tribe, and half wanted to settle in the town, while the other half wanted to continue living as their traditions had dictated, and had fought over the division of generations, until a townsman and a tribesman had killed a great Mirelurk in the lake, and bonded over the experience, and ultimately healed the rift.

King Francis and his entourage arrived first. It was an audacious affair, as a man with a long trumpet arrived at the resort first, and blew into it.

"HEAR YE HEAR YE! HIS MAJESTY KING FRANCIS THE GREAT, SEVENTH OF HIS NAME, APPROACHES!" the herald declared, and a contingent of soldiers approached, all in ceremonial garb of their Houses. Among them was a man-carried sedan, with four people carrying the King inside. The sedan was lowered, and all the soldiers turned and bowed to the sedan, as the King exited.

"Thank you, my subjects! Your attentions and dedication are a blessing upon my house!" King Francis called out, "Today, I am graciously hosted by the people of Champli, and meet with their honorable President. It is a privilege to be here, surely!"

He motioned for them to rise, and they did. Francis walked to Zeke, and held out his hand, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister President."

"And a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty," Zeke returned the handshake. Their respective grips were firm, and the greeting was longer than it should have been as they tested one another's strenght. Neither won, to their mutual satisfaction.

"And you are the Mayor. A formidable opponent!" Francis turned his attention to the Mayor, "It is an honor to meet you, as well, on a field of diplomacy rather than battle!"

"Yeah. Real pleasure," the Mayor didn't offer his hand. Francis made no issue of it.

"Come! Let us feast and be merry while we await out final attendee!" Francis led the charge inside, where there was food, but more in a reception sort of way than a feast. Not that this slowed down King Francis; his people had brought their own contributions, in the form of fully cooked twelve-foot hogs stuffed with mutfruit.

Nora and her group had been next to arrive. They'd gotten in the previous night, and had to hike up the mountain. King Francis beheld the new group.

"And who is this?" He motioned to them, "Is this the Elder of the Brotherhood?"

"Huh? Me? No! No, no, no, I'm just a Knight!" Rhys insisted.

"Your Majesty, I am General Nora Killinger of the Minutemen. I am also a Sentinel-Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. This is my attendant, Knight Rhys, who wears my armor in my name, as I am here both as the Commander in Chief of the Untied Commonwealth and as a representative of the Brotherhood of Steel," Nora interjected, "These three are Atom Cats, of which I am also a member, and President Zeke is the founder and leader of. They are here to chill and be smooth."

"Then be chilled, and be smoothed!" Francis raised his goblet of wine to them. His servants handed the new group their own goblets, and they all saluted back, and drank. Nora removed her helmet, and joined the festivities.

"Everything seems to be going well," Zeke muttered, "I like the Champli guys. Francis knows how to party, but that's all he's done since he got here. At least he's loosening up and enjoying himself."

"At least," Nora agreed, "Just so you know, that thing I told you about?"

"Which one?"

"Chris-Cross."

Zeke frowned, understanding the meaning, "Yeah?"

"It's happening."

"Dammit, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't know until you'd already left for Champli, and we don't have another shot."

"This had better work, General," he hissed, "Because I will _not_ be left in the dark again."

"I know. I'm sorry, Zeke."

"Something the matter?" King Francis was dancing with a Champli chief toward them.

"Just some briefing is all, your Majesty," Nora assured him.

"Hey, chill and be smooth! It's a party, after all!" he reminded her.

"I will endeavor," she promised, and she rejoined her group.

"I take it your President isn't very happy with you?" Quentin remarked.

"He's not your President, what do you care?" she retorted.

"Your President's the best hope the East Coast has. I care a lot what happens to him."

"Whatever. Just be ready."

The main doors opened, and a squad of Power Armor Clad Brothers entered the resort. The dancing and music stopped, and the Brotherhood procession entered. Elder Maxson, wearing his coat, walked in, with his arms behind his back.

"Welcome, Elder Maxs-" King Francis's Herald began, but Maxson held up his hand to silence him.

"This summit is a farce. It is filled with enemies and traitors of the Brotherhood, and we will not be part of it. Did you not think we would find out what was really going on here? Did you not think we had eyes and ears everywhere?" Maxson bellowed, "Starting with our hosts, the 'Champli' and their 'Mayor.' We bear no ill will to the primitives that have lived here, but that airport, and that whole town is filled with Enclave survivors, the _worst_ that the Old World had to offer. The descendants of those who destroyed the world by abusing technology. Arcade Gannon, you will stand final trial for your people's crimes against humanity."

"Burn in hell!" the Mayor spat at him.

"Silence! Sentinel Killinger, you are under arrest for treason and sedition against the Brotherhood, and the Minutemen are immediately ordered to stand down, and submit themselves to analysis for Synth infiltrators. If you fail to follow these orders, then we will destroy the Castle."

She just glared at him.

"And as for you, 'Mister President,' the United Commonwealth will similarly submit its leadership for a sweep to discover these infiltrators. We will not permit these abominations to subvert the civil authorities, and undermine the progress that has been made. This is for your own protection.

"As for you, 'Your Majesty,' you and your people will pull out of Albany, and leave the Metropolitan New York area to the Brotherhood of Steel, under penalty of Death, am I understood?"

"Well this was a short summit," King Francis muttered, and he drank.

"Screw this, I'm killing you now! CHARON!" Quentin declared.

The third Atom Cat and Quentin leaped into action, brandishing Plasma rifles, and immediately set upon Maxson's guards, causing shrieks and panic among the representatives. King Francis's soldiers tried to usher him away, but he instead rallied them into fighting positions.

"Minutemen! Get the President out of here!" Nora shouted, and they obeyed, helping people escape, and taking Zeke into protection. She turned to Danse and Rhys.

"You two, help Quentin and whoever the hell he brought with us."

"I can't do that, ma'am," Rhys said, "You're under arrest."

"Rhys, listen to me," Danse said, "Everything that Maxson has told you is a lie. I'm not an Atom Cat. I'm your teacher, your mentor, _I'm_ Paladin Danse. I hid from the Brotherhood, and you have to listen to me: Elder Maxson is not fit to lead the Brotherhood of Steel. He's a madman, and he has to be stopped."

Rhys stared at Danse, and flexed his hand into a fist, "You know, I wish I didn't believe you. But I think this is why Maxson put me here, to test my loyalty. I think he knew. And I will _not_ fail my Elder! Die you abomination! Ad Victoriam!"

"Dammit!" Nora screeched, and she pulled out her own plasma pistol, firing at Rhys as he set upon Danse with his Power Armor's hands.

"Go! Help Quentin, stop Maxson! I'll handle Rhys!"

"Don't...Don't kill him!" Nora ordered.

"Don't worry. He doesn't know all my tricks!" Danse promised, and Nora spun into action, producing a Gauss Rifle. Quentin and his companion were pinned down, and while the Brotherhood had Miniguns and Gatling Lasers, the two were experienced warriors and precise shots, and so despite their weak position, they were still holding off four Brotherhood of Steel Star Paladins. Nora aimed her Gauss Rifle, and fired, blowing the helmet off of one, and the Paladin's face was melted by plasma.

"ARTHUR! NEXT TIME YOU TRY TO KILL YOUR MENTOR, DO IT YOURSELF YOU TREACHEROUS DOG!" Quentin bellowed as loud as his speakers would let him, "Because Cross didn't do it right!"

"Paladin, I want that man dead _now,_ " Arthur ordered the Star Paladin.

"At once, Elder Maxson," the Paladin replied, and he prepped a grenade, and tossed it at them. Quentin and Charon took flight from their positions as it was vaporized in a sudden blast of nuclear flame, and the Brotherhood concentrated their fire on them. The sound of Charon's chestplate cracking was the first thing Nora heard once the ringing stopped. She had kept shooting even through the blindness. More Brotherhood soldiers jumped out of a Vertibird, crashing through the ceiling. Despite his armor failing, Charon held them off by recovering a Gatling Laser and unleashing on them, allowing Quentin to follow Maxson out of the building, where was retreating.

"ARTHUR!" Quentin bellowed, and he brandished a ripper, "Do you recognize this knife? This was Sarah's knife. She wanted you to have it someday. Today, I fulfill her wish!"

With a dozen Brotherhood Paladins firing laser rifles and heavy weapons at him, Quentin charged through the fire, punching Paladins that got in his way. His armor was shredded, his arms bled and cooked, but he reached his target. Arthur turned to him just as Quentin was upon his prey, and held out his hand to try to stop the onslaught, but it only ended with Quentin sawing off Maxson's hand with the Ripper. With the blow delivered, Quentin activated the jet pack, which barely managed to get him off the ground, but far enough into the woods that the firing line no longer had a target by the time it failed.

"What's going on?" Butch appeared out of thin air, deactivating his stealth suit, "We had everyone in position but we didn't get the signal when the shooting started."

"Maxson was onto us. We need to escape, _now._ You take the Tunnel Snakes to the Pitt, I'll lead the Brotherhood away from you. They won't stop until they find me. As far as you're concerned, I've been dead, and my being alive is a huge surprise to you."

"What the hell, I'm not abandoning you! Tunnel Snakes-"

"Rule. You need to keep them alive. Go to the Pitt. If I survive this, I will let you know."

* * *

"Where is the abomination?" Star Paladin Packard asked.

"He got away," Rhys reported, "But I got the traitor."

Nora's armor had been wrecked, and her Fusion Core had been destroyed in the fighting. A pair of Paladins kept her restrained.

"And you are?" Packard demanded.

"Knight Rhys, sir. I was assigned to the traitor to be here. I didn't know it at the time, but once it all happened, my duty was clear."

"Outstanding, Knight. You've done the Brotherhood an exemplary service. Elder Maxson will be thrilled to learn of what you've done here today."

Rhys beamed, "Thank you, sir. Ad Victoriam."


	19. Ad Victoriam

"What's going on?" Elwood demanded. Laser fire was erupting everywhere in the base. He stormed into the Community Center, once the main building of the airport. He topped in his tracts when he saw people not just arming themselves, but wearing Power Armor he'd never seen before, which was black with sharp angles and pointed tips on the helmet.

"Elwood, honey," his mother's voice came from one of the Power Armor suits, "We're under attack. The Brotherhood of Steel is coming for us."

"Yeah, I know, I was _there_. I just came from the Summit, everyone's dead, disappeared, or captured. What…Mom, what are you wearing?"

"He should know," his father declared, "He's the only one who can help us."

His mother led him deeper into the building, "Elwood, the truth is, we are the remains of the survivors of the US government. The Enclave. Twice, we nearly conquered the country, but we were defeated. Once, a hero of the Enclave, Sergeant Granite, ended his journey here, and sealed away technology and weapons here. We were defeated, when you were just a boy, back in the Capital Wasteland. Remember the facility we lived in? Remember how I was gone for so long, until we came here? The Brotherhood of Steel, and the Enclave, the army we were a part of, were enemies. We had hoped to live in peace here, to retire our weapons until they were truly needed, until we had a cause worth fighting for."

She had led him underground, into a weapons bunker. There were eleven suits of X-01 Power Armor, and dozens of the same kind of suits that his mother was wearing, each of them with someone starting to get inside, or walking off the platforms and taking a weapon.

"These were the suits of Sergeant Granite and his team. Elwood, the Enclave were not good people. I was not a good person. Our President, our country, our cause, we tried to commit genocide on a global scale. Just because we want peace doesn't mean we doesn't deserve what's coming to us today. But you? You've chosen a new country. You've chosen a new path. Whether or not we're worth saving, that's up to you. I know I'm your mother, I know you love me with all your heart, but trust me, I've done terrible things. The only thing I don't regret is you, Elwood. Take Granite's suit, and protect the Commonwealth. The Minutemen need you. We can hold out against the Brotherhood and defend Champli until you decide what to do with us."

"I…I won't judge you," he said, "You can't ask that of me. That's not my place. The people of the Commonwealth, they can make that choice, later, after all this is over. But I'll take the armor. I'll make you proud, mother."

"I'm already proud of you. I love you, Elwood," she pressed a button, and the door to the inner armory opened, and he stepped inside Sgt. Granite's Power Armor.

* * *

"You will sign it," Paladin Packard ordered. King Francis laughed.

"Absolutely not. You can hold me hostage, you can _kill_ me, but it won't make a difference. You've started a war here, and others will fight it in my stead. If I am not there to lead the Court, my sister takes my place. If I am killed, she takes my throne. If you think I'm a bastard, she's a downright bitch when she's angry," he informed them.

"Have you ever heard," Elder Maxson shuffled back into the resort. His missing arm was bandaged and slung, and his face was pale, "Of Liberty Prime? You may have. It's our nuclear-armed combat robot with giant lasers that has only ever been defeated once. And that was with orbital kinetic weapons. Your army is impressive, Francis. But with our air superiority, and with our Power Armor and our technology, our dedication and our training, and with Liberty Prime, we will destroy you and this rotting little empire you've built. If you want to preserve any of that, you will sign the treaty."

King Francis leaned forward, and said, "You will refer to me as 'Your Majesty.' I look forward to stripping your robot, your air vehicles, your Power Armor, and your technology for parts, because it will fuel my Kingdom for generations of expansion and conquest. You're nothing more than my next target."

* * *

"This is Arcade Gannon, broadcasting from the Burlington International Airport. I am sending out a distress call to any and all Enclave remnants. We are under siege by the Brotherhood of Steel. Our neighbors and our friends are being forced into their homes. Our President is missing, and we cannot hold. We require reinforcements and any assistance that can be rendered. If you want to see a new future for our country, send help!"

Arcade sighed, and hit 'send.' If any Enclave remnants were listening to that communication satellite, they would hear the distress call. He rubbed his forehead. He'd barely gotten out of there alive. The Minutemen had made sure they got him and the President out, but he insisted on coming back to the Airport. Arcade had taken on the responsibility for leading these people into a better future, create a new future for the Enclave remnants that wasn't defined by horror and war. Was this inevitable? Were these people just so geared for war that there was no alternative for them?

He thought about his old friend, the one who had reconnected him with his family, those old-timers who wanted one last adventure. He wondered how she was doing. He wondered-

He wondered if she could hear him.

He made some adjustments to the satellite, and re-aimed it, this time at a specific source. He encoded the message, and began recording.

"Sue. If you can hear this, it's Arcade. I'm in Burlington, Vermont, on the East Coast. I don't know if there is anything you can do to help me, but please. The Brotherhood of Steel has attacked my settlement, and they're going to destroy the local government. Their leader, he's some kind of madman. I know the Enclave isn't worth preserving, but…I've tried to do good, and…There's been progress, and…I just don't know what to do…Please, help…"

* * *

He wasn't sure if the rest of the recording was just him crying. But he sent it, with no edits.

"What are your orders, Mister President?" Colonel Violet asked.

"We _drive,_ that's my order," Zeke said, putting the pedal to the metal.

"Mister President, I'm a _synth_ , what am I gonna _do?"_ she demanded.

"I don't know! I just don't know! I'm not suited for this, I shouldn't be President, this whole thing is _crazy!_ " he shouted.

"Zeke, let me drive," Deacon said.

"Shut up!"

"Statistics show that people are more likely to get in accidents if they drive angry. Pull over, and let me drive," Deacon repeated. Zeke glared at him, and pulled the car over, and handed the keys to Deacon. They all got out of the car.

"Okay. You're freaking out, Mister President. That's understandable. But we need you now more than ever. You _are_ the President, like it or not. Nobody else can do this job but _you._ Before I drive us an inch further, you need to think of what to do," Deacon said, "Take a deep breath."

Zeke inhaled through his nose and out his mouth, "Okay. Yeah. I'm cool. I'm suave. The Atom Cats, we're solid. We've dealt with everything that's been thrown at us, and we can deal with this. The Atom Cats are gonna hide their suits. So are the Minutemen. We're not giving the Brotherhood a damn thing."

"Okay. That's a start. What else?"

"The Synths. All the ones in the Minutemen. Members of the Railroad whose involvement might be exposed. They need to be smuggled out of the Commonwealth. Send them north, to Maine. The Brotherhood can't chase after them, they'd have too much ground to cover."

"Outstanding, we can do that. What else?"

"The Minutemen stand down. Garvey won't roll over for the Brotherhood, but Colonel Walsh will. We make Walsh the leader of the Minutemen, and we suspend Garvey. We make sure he doesn't start a rebellion. We won't start a war with the Brotherhood, so we lock Garvey in Vault 81 with his kid. We hide our most advanced technology, but we let the Brotherhood do their sweeps. Show that we have nothing to hide. Once the Brotherhood loses interest and bogs themselves down against the Court of Empire, we kick those squares to curb."

"There. We have a plan. Passive resistance until we can do active resistance. Now we gotta get home, and we gotta make it happen," Deacon said.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do this. For the Commonwealth. You drive. I gotta pass out."

* * *

"I won't do it," Brandis announced.

"Excuse me?" Maxson said.

"I won't conduct the searches. I will not be part of an occupation of the very people we swore to protect. This is going much too far. These people aren't the Institute. They don't hold any kind of world-destroying technology. They live in shacks and are fixing up historical buildings, they pose no threat to us," Brandis affirmed.

"These people were part of a conspiracy against the Brotherhood, and if it hadn't been uncovered, it could very well have succeeded. The very people you were left to monitor and understand. Or is there something you're not telling me?" Maxson cocked his head. Brandis stood, turning pink.

"I will not do it. I will not enable my men to do it. If I had anything to do with this conspiracy, then I am a traitor, and you should have me tried. If I didn't, then I am clearly unable to perform my duties, and so I submit my resignation. I leave the choice to you."

Maxson glared, and snarled, "Very well. Enjoy your retirement, Paladin Brandis. Ad Victoriam."

They saluted to each other, and Maxson left. Brandis slumped back into his chair. _What_ happened in Champli?

"Paladin Brandis?" a voice rang out. Brandis blinked, and glanced at the clock; three hours had passed. Had he just been staring at his desk for that long.

"Er, yes? Well, not anymore, I suppose," Brandis rubbed his eyes, and focused on the Brother that had just entered his office.

"I am Paladin Danse. The Synth. New face. If you love the Brotherhood, you'll listen to what I have to say."

* * *

Nora woke up in a cell in the science labs on the Prydwen. She was chained to a stretcher, and her wounds had been tended to. Everything still ached like hell, though.

"Chained to a stretcher and locked in a cage. Good. You understand, then," she wheezed, "What I'd do if I ever got out."

"Miss Nora? Thank heavens you're all right!" a Mr. Handy called out. She looked around, and saw that she was surrounded by armored Brothers, Elder Maxson, scribes, and, to her surprise, Codsworth, who was attached to a terminal that Haylen was tapping way at.

"Cod-Codsworth? What's going on?"

"Sentinel. You are going to unlock your robot for us," Maxson ordered.

"What? Why? He's just a butler."

"We know that your housebot has been modified as a combat robot before, and you modified him back to return to his duties as a butler. You've taken him on several classified missions, you've spoken in confidence around him, and you are going to unlock him, or we tear his programming apart line by line while you watch," he explained, holding out his new hand, a plastic three-fingered prosthetic.

"No, please, no, Codsworth, he's all I have left, he's the only thing left from before the War! Please, don't do this," Nora begged.

"Miss Nora, it's quite all right. They won't get a byte from me! All your secrets are safe. I've got it all under control," Codsworth assured her.

"What?"

"As I leave and breath! Mistress!" Codsworth's 'eyes' went wide, regarding her.

"Dammit!" Haylen hissed.

"What is it?" Maxson demanded.

"The robot, he's forcing memory loops."

"Fresh coffee, brewed to perfection! Newspaper delivered! Uh oh! Sounds like someone made a stinky! Ma'am! You should come and see this! See this! Stinky! Brewed to perfection! HOW DO YOU POLISH RUST?! Brewed to perfection!"

"He's launching all of his programs and protocols all at the same time. He's trying to set things on fire, wash the car, change the baby, change the channel, at once. He's going to force a memory crash," Haylen explained.

"What happens if he succeeds?"

"If you'd shut up I might be able to stop it," she snapped. Maxson clenched his jaw, and she kept typing.

"It is an honor! Salutations! I am your Mr. Handy Personal Robotic Attendant! I am specifically programmed for your family's needs! Oh I assure you, I am more than capable of caring for your newborn well into their life, and am perfectly safe! Absolutely, I would be thrilled to be part of your household, Mister and Missus Killinger! You may call me Codsworth! Oh, I am so pleased you've decided to take me home! It is an honor!" Codsworth announced. He stopped twitching, and looked directly at Nora, saying, "It will be all right, Miss Nora. I'll give Master Nate and Master Shaun your love."

And he fell to the ground, the lights on his chassis blank.


	20. Execution

_**Diamond City Radio, Commonwealth-Wide**_

"W-Wuh, we h-h…have r-r-reports th-th-that um….That, uhh th-that the the B-Brotherhood of S-Steel h-has f-ff-finally ex….Executed…General K-K-Killin-g-ger….I'm…I'm sorry, I c-can't…I can't…"

"I know, Travis, it's all right, do you want me to read it?"

Travis just started crying, and Scarlet's voice took over.

"Announcements made by representatives of the Brotherhood of Steel have announced the trial and execution of General Nora Killinger, who was a Paladin-Sentinel of the Brotherhood of Steel. She had been tried and found guilty for murder, conspiracy, and treason against High Elder Maxson. Three other members of the Brotherhood of Steel were also accused and tried for their part. No outsider was permitted to observe the trial, and so none of the facts or procedures can be independently verified. The Brotherhood says that she was executed by plank, a brutal and inhumane method that effectively means they threw her off the side of the Prydwen, and she hit the ground hundreds of feet below.

"General Killinger was one of the founding figures of our new country, and has worked tirelessly to ensure that the Commonwealth has become, and remains, a safe place. Today will be a day of great mourning for our country. General Killinger is survived by her partner, Colonel Preston Garvey, of the Minutemen, and an unborn child who is being born to a surrogate mother, made possible by the General's significant contributions to lost sciences.

"A statement made by the offices of the President has announced they recognize the Brotherhood's need and right to internally police themselves, and that they are disappointed with the path current events have taken us."

 _ **Diamond City, Publick Occurrences**_

Nat slid swung open the door, aiming a laser pistol at every corner. Piper gawked at her sister as she latched the door closed, and peeked out the view slider.

"Oh hi Nat, good to see you again, would you like a Deezer's?" Piper snarked.

"They're gonna come for us," Nat declared. Piper frowned.

"The Brotherhood? Why would they come for you?"

"I was Nora's squire. She sponsored me. I heard her talking about a lot of things. You were...Her partner, for a long time. I overheard them talking about 'debriefing' you. We're in danger, Piper," Nat informed her sister. Piper took a deep breath.

"I figured this would happen. All right. There are go-bags in my closet and next to your bed. Let's pack what we can, as well. Guns, water, food, ammo. Let me go and get something that will help, all right?"

Nat nodded, and immediately set getting to work. Over her travels, Piper had collected armor and weapons and survival tools. They had been meant as trophies, but kept as possible means of escape if Piper ever bit off more than she could chew, or a friend was ever in need. After all, every great reporter should be well-armed with firepower, both literal and intellectual.

While Nat was still assembling their survival kits, there was a thumping at the door as a mechanical fist banged on it.

"Piper Wright! Brotherhood of Steel, open up!"

Outside, two armored Paladins and a pair of Scribes were waiting, armed and ready. A member of Diamond City's Finest approached them.

"Excuse me, uh, gentlemen? I'm gonna have to ask you to leak our citizen alone. If you want to make a complaint, you can lodge one at the Security offices, but you're disturbing the peace, so, if you would disperse please?" the officer instructed.

"This guy's got balls," one of the Paladins remarked.

"Stand aside, Wastelander. We can handle this," the other Paladin told him.

"Uh, _wastelander?_ Excuse me, I'm a member of _Diamond City Security._ Do you know what that means? It means I'm a _cop_ and you are violating city ordinances. If you want exceptions, you'll have to speak with the Mayor, or at least the Chief, but for now, you're gonna have to disperse," the security officer informed them. The Paladin banging on Piper's door turned to him.

"This is an internal Brotherhood of Steel matter, and none of the interest of Diamond City. Stand aside."

"Okay, first, last time I checked, Piper Wright wasn't a member of the Brotherhood of Steel. Second, you're doing this inside Diamond City, which is internally policed, meaning you gotta do what I tell you, or we throw down. Is that really something that the Brotherhood of Steel wants to deal with?" the officer asked him. The second Paladin looked at the first.

"He's got a point, Renard."

"Is the attention and ire of the Brotherhood something that Diamond City wants to deal with?" Rennard asked the security officer, who sighed.

"All right, but don't say I didn't warn ya," the officer conceded, and he walked off. Rennard went back to banging on Piper's door.

"Piper Wright! Under the authority of the Brotherhood of Steel, open this door or we will open it for you! I am going to give you until the count of ten!"

"Hey man, leave her alone, she ain't done nothin'!" Solomon called out. A small crowd was starting to form. Renard looked over at them, and turned back to Piper's door.

"One!"

A tato hit Renard on the side of the helmet. He regarded the mob for a moment, then looked back to Piper's door, shouting, "Two!"

"All right, everyone, that's enough, make way," the security officer had returned this time with a team. Instead of the standard Diamond City Umpire outfits that normally served them, they were decked out in full and painted Combat Armor with Synth full helmets painted to resemble their normal helmets. They were armed with combat and laser rifles.

"All right, I asked you nicely the first time. I'm not gonna ask you again. Disperse, and file a complaint with the Mayor, or I'll be forced to remove you from the city," the officer repeated.

"What the hell is this? You Wastelanders find your balls? Well it's not gonna be enough. You want to start a fight, we'll show you the might of the Brotherhood," Renard snarled at them.

"Okay, now? I'm gonna have you exit your power armor, set down your weapons, and put your hands in the air. If you don't comply, we're gonna peel you outta that armor. Or pour you, depending on how this goes down. Either way, this ain't gonna end well for ya," the officer declared.

"Brothers!" Renard held up his plasma rifle.

"Ready!" the officer shouted, and a trio of security officers with missile launchers moved up through the line they had made.

"Oh shit!" the other Paladin started to back off.

"Fire!"

Three missiles were let fly, each impacting Renard, lighting up the street and denting Piper's house. The scribes were sent on their ass, and Renard stumbled, his armor cracked and dangling on the frame. He tore off the broken arm plating, and raised his rifle again, firing without hesitation. Diamond City Security returned, cutting into the Paladin's armor and spilling blood. The Paladin managed to kill two members of the security team until he fell back, his armor wrecked and pierced.

"Scribes! Pull back!" the other Paladin ordered, helping one to his feet.

"Yeah, I don't think so," Piper raised a Gauss rifle at the Paladin. She was in a T-51 Power Armor suit, "The Officer gave you an order. I suggest you comply."

The Paladin hesitated, and looked back at Renard's body.

"Put your weapons down, Scribes," she ordered, tossing her own laser rifle to the ground, and her armor opened. The Paladin stepped out of the armor, putting her arms into the air, as Diamond City Security cuffed her and the Scribes. Piper immediately entered her home.

"Nat? Nat!"

"I'm here, Piper!" Nat poked her head out.

"Thank God. Come on, grab your bags, we're leaving," Piper instructed.

"When did you get Power Armor?" Nat asked, hoisting her bag on.

"I'll explain later," Piper said, "Let's get going."

 _ **Shady Sands, NCR**_

"Governor Vance, good to see you again!" President Hsu shook her hand.

"It's always wonderful to see you, James," she shook it back, and kissed him on the cheek, "How are you enjoying your new office?"

"'Enjoy' is a bit of a stretch. 'Tolerate' is too much. 'Loathe' doesn't quite get it. I've got to deal with exactly the kinds of people who held me back in the Army. Hell, I've got to deal with the people who _did_ hold me back in the Army. I'm still not sure how we pulled off the campaign," Hsu admitted.

"Well, Oliver tried going for 'outright rigging the election.' We went for the message of 'Hey this guy's a war hero who actually knows what he's doing.' It was a pretty easy sell."

"Yeah, and the fact that you basically funded the whole thing didn't hurt, right?" Hsu cocked an eyebrow at her. Sue grinned.

"RobCo is entitled to make honest and open contributions to political and social causes it deems worthy of its attentions. You ran on a pro-technology, pro-education platform that aligns with RobCo's financial and civic interests," Sue informed him, speaking in the high-brow New Vegas corporate accent that was starting to be all the rage among well-to-do businessfolk.

"Right," Hsu remarked in a dry tone, "So what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm going to the East Coast."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. I should have started from the beginning. So you know how I'm a member of the Brotherhood of Steel? I'm sort of a Paladin now?" Susan said.

"…Yeah, you negotiated the treaty normalizing relations between the NCR and the Brotherhood. I was there. They promoted you to Sentinel for it," Hsu said.

"No, they promoted me to _Paladin_ for the treaty. They promoted me to _Sentinel_ because I gave them the technology to quickly and efficiently design and construct new robots. Now, we've gotten word from our East Coast branch, you know, the one on the East Coast?"

"Oh, yeah, the East Coast Brotherhood Branch that's on the East Coast," he rolled his eyes.

"That's the one! Yeah. They're going completely insane, and they need someone to get a handle on the situation. Now, what do you know about the Brotherhood Elders?"

"That they're the leaders of the Brotherhood?"

"Yep. There's ten of them, and they have decided that there are ten. That's about all they can normally decide on, but number ten is some guy named Arthur Maxson. He's got some kind of important relative, I'm not really sure what they were on about when they were like 'Last in his line' and 'Traced to the founder' or something like that. Anyway, evidently, he took power in some kind of coup a few years ago, or something, we're kind of unclear on the details. So I sort of volunteered to lead an expedition to sort it all out. So I'm going to be out of the country for a few months."

"…As Governor of the Mojave, you are leaving your post to go on a mission for the Brotherhood of Steel. Just as my administration is beginning. I need you here, Sue, I don't have a lot of allies," he insisted.

"Oh, I'm not asking. This is gonna happen. I've got it all arranged already. Don't worry, my Lieutenant Governor can handle the job, and will provide you with all the help you need. You might not have political allies in high positions, but you have the support of the people. That's all you need. Stand by them, and they'll come through for you, they always have for me."

"Your Lieutenant Governor is called 'Swank' and he used to work for the man who _shot you in the head._ "

"Yeah, and he's not working for Benny anymore. Because I murdered Benny in his sleep. Don't worry, Swank's smarter than he looks. Or sounds. Or acts. Trust me, he's actually pretty cunning. If I need someone to stop talking, he's the one that gets them to shut up, and he doesn't even need to shoot anyone in the head!" Sue insisted.

"This is a terrible idea," Hsu insisted.

"Yeah, which is why I need your help to make it a great idea. You see, if I load a two-and-a-half century-old tanker full of Brotherhood Knights and an army of robots around to the other side of the continent, I'll just sort of look like an invader. But if the NCR is willing to contribute some specialists and diplomats to the cause, I'll be an _authentic_ invader, because I won't _look_ like an invader. We'll call it a 'Coalition Peacekeeping Force' between the NCR, Brotherhood, the Zion Tribes, and RobCo."

"For a mission we have few details about, in a place we know nothing about."

Sue grinned, "Okay, so when I said that, what I meant was, the _Brotherhood_ doesn't know any details. I, however, have my own sources. So...Yeah. I actually know a lot more about what's going on than what I'm actually supposed to. Why is why I'm going. Do you remember Arcade Gannon?"

"The blonde doctor from the Followers? Yeah?"

"Well, ah, you see, the truth is…"


	21. Gifts

**_Wernher's Wing, Worker Palace, The Pitt_**

Wernher stared at the maps. All roads led to the Pitt, inevitably. Ashur had been right that the other regions were jealous of their power. He found himself wishing he was here, and loathing that he had pushed Wernher and the slaves to the point of rebellion. He was the man of vision, of comprehending the whole picture. Midea was too concerned about the Workers themselves, she thought that everything revolved around them, but that wasn't true. People who came to the Pitt to work served the greater function of the Pitt. The factories were all that mattered. Without them, the Workers would fall into banditry or tribalism and the whole cycle would start again.

The Brotherhood of Steel had helped keep the Pitt's mills working, but Ronto had supplied them with weapons and training. What had King Francis ever done for them, except piss off their biggest trading partners. That was his thinking. But what would it mean if the Pitt did take sides? Did that make them power players? Is that something they wanted? Is that something they could afford?

Wernher didn't know. He took a sip of whiskey, studying the map. He was master of the Pitt now, but that was his only ambition. Now that he had far greater heights to reach for, and he found his own ambition wanting. He could have his own kingdom, his own empire. But he didn't want that. He had the Pitt. That was enough. It had to be, right?

He stared at the map. What could they do? What if, one day, after he'd been neutral all this time, Ronto or the Brotherhood decided _they_ were the next target, the next place to be conquered? What were the limits of that? Wernher acted tough, acted like he didn't care, like the Pitt was all that mattered, but these questions scared him. Not because of what they asked, but because of the answers.

Was he even the person to make these decisions? He had to be. There was nobody else to answer them.

"Wernher, there is someone who wishes to speak with you. They say they are from the Brotherhood of Steel," the Attendant declared. The Attendant had once been an Institute experiment, an attempt at true AI, who had escaped three years ago along with other survivors. Some of the survivors had come to the Pitt, and they offered the Attendant as a gift in exchange for protection. They were happy to fix up the machines and build more, so he took them in. The Brotherhood didn't need to know where they came from, so they all had new faces. The Attendant resembled a Mr. Handy, except it had a row of three arms where its eyes normally were, it had stumpy but generally humanoid legs, and a triangular 'head' with a pair of red 'eyes.' It took some getting used to.

"Send them in," he sighed. Some Scribe or another came in, but there was something off about them. For one, he couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman, though they were bald. They weren't wearing the kind of militaristic uniform that the Brotherhood wore. Instead they wore a sort of crimson robe over their jumpsuit with the emblem of their order.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Lord Wernher. I am-"

"Wernher."

"Pardon?"

"Not 'Lord' Wernher, it's just Wernher. I'm not one of those Knights in Bandit Armor from Empire."

"…Yes, of course, my apologies. I am Scribe Liliana, of the Brotherhood of Steel. I have come with gifts for the Pitt, and proposals to establish relations between our Order and your community."

"Y-What? You already have people here, we already have 'established relations.' You guys are always badgering me about what we're building for other people. More bribes won't change my answer: Commissions are private. I'm not going to change the one rule that's kept us out of the wars."

"Ah. I see. I was not aware contact was that intimate be-"

"How the hell do you not know that your own people are _down the street?_ "

"Because I do not represent the _local_ Brotherhood of Steel, Wernher. I'm not here from the Citadel."

Wernher rubbed his good eye, "Say that again?"

"I represent a different chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel. We have been…Secluded for quite some time. It is clear now, however, that our involvement is necessary, and we were hoping to open with good relations with the Pitt in particular. Especially with what is about to come."

"Wait, there's more than one of you guys?"

"Yes. The Brotherhood of Steel is established in one way or another throughout the continental United States, though we do not reach all corners. Our particular chapter has not had reason to get involved with the communities around us, until recent events."

"The whole freakin' country goin' downhill, fast," Wernher said.

"Precisely. For this reason, I have come with gifts. New molds and designs for the steel mills, more efficient than some of their competitors. Easily built, effective machines that even the simplest of tribes can comprehend. This, we present, as a gift to you."

"All right. So what's the catch?"

"Well, we have other arrangements we wish to make with you. The gift is yours, regardless. But we would like to purchase land to your west."

"Take it, anything that ain't the Pitt ain't mine."

"That's simply not true, though. The Pitt's influence extends far beyond the city limits, and to think otherwise is to invite invasion."

Wernher looked back at the map. That was true, at least in effect. He had never bothered to enforce their claim past what they needed, but they'd driven off raiders and slavers away from nearby regions before. Should they expand into those areas? How far?

"What are you offering?" Wernher inquired, his eyes fixed on the map.

"We have fuel generators. Far more efficient and less dangerous than the coal you've been using to power your mills."

"Fuel…? What do they take?"

"Gas."

"Gas? As in gasoline? Like, oil?"

"Yes."

"What would I need that for?"

"…For the gas we are hoping to export to you?"

"Who's got gas, much less enough to EXPORT?"

"We do. We've been brewing it for decades."

 ** _2 Days Later_**

"Sir? Midea is here," the Attendant announced. Wernher sat in his big, comfy chair. Midea and Wernher were technically co-leaders of the Pitt. Wernher wasn't sure how true that actually was; he ran the security and the factories and conducted diplomacy. Still, she ran the schools and the clinics and organized the people or something like that, so maybe she saw him the same way. Maybe they should talk more. That would probably clear up some of that confusion.

"See her in," he waved his hand, and Midea entered, though not alone. With her was Maria; his eyes lit up. He had hated kids earlier in his life, but Maria was a delight. Midea was raising her, but he was like an uncle to her. He taught her how to fight and shoot, how to lie and know when someone was lying in turn. All the important things that a girl needed to know in life. She was not the only woman there, however; there was someone new, with brown hair, a button nose and was absolutely the most gorgeous woman that Wernher had ever seen. She wore jeans over legs that had all the shapes, a strong but elegant body with every curve where it needed to be. He found himself standing, eyes transfixed upon her.

"Uh, hello, I'm, ahem, Wernher," he said to her, and he moved some of his gray hair out of his eyes.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, monsieur. I am Dr. Curie," she bowed.

"Oh, no need to do that, we're, uh, not big on formality around here," he assured her, grinning. Midea and Maria looked at each other.

"I see, I will keep this in mind, monsieur," Dr. Curie said, taking a seat.

"Can I uh, get you anything? Er, you ladies? Food? Drink? Wine?" he offered.

"Whiskey!" Marie dared. Midea tapped her on the shoulder, shaking her head.

"Ah, she's already had a taste for it," Wernher admitted, "Another bad habit you can chalk up to me."

"Underage drinking can cause an array of stunted development, ranging from poor bone structure to impaired mental faculties," Dr. Curie pointed out, "I do not recommend her ingesting alcoholic beverages of any kind."

"I have some Mutfruit squeeze," Wernher grumbled, "All right, what about you two?"

"Is something wrong with him?" Marie whispered to Midea.

"It's an affliction for most males. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be a cure," Midea said, and she motioned to Dr. Curie. Marie looked from Dr. Curie to Wernher, and stifled a giggle.

"I would love some Mutfruit squeeze as well," Dr. Curie told him, "Nutritious and delicious!"

"That's right! Why don't I just get four of 'em? Uh, Attendant?" he called.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Four Mutfruit Squeezes, please?"

"I am your personal assistant and a highly sophisticated analytical machine. I am not your butler."

"I said please?"

"Very well," the robot growled. Wernher turned back to his guests.

"So what can I do for you?"

"I wanted to introduce Dr. Curie to you, Wernher. She is a highly skilled and recommended doctor, who has come with a group of refugees from the north. They contain a lot of specialists, and Dr. Curie is their leader, of sorts," Midea said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Curie. I'm sure you and yours will settle in real nice," he beamed.

"Oh thank you, you are most gracious, Monsieur Wernher," Curie replied. The Attendant arrived with their drinks. Marie leaned in to her mother again and remarked,

"Wow. He's got it _bad._ "

"Doctor Curie is very interested in our work on the Troglodyte Degenerative Condition, and believes she can progress our research much faster than we've been able to with what labs we have," Midea informed Wernher.

"Oui, I have created a plan to replicate the disease using mole rat hosts, and applying an array of countermeasures and vaccinations on them, before applying human or troglodyte trials. It would be much faster, and far less painful for Marie," Dr. Curie explained.

"I thought we already had a vaccine?" Wernher said.

"Oui, but it is not entirely effective, and the disease has since spread outward from the Pitt. Your laboratories can synthesize enough for the workers in the city, but not enough for the farms and communities nearby. My methods would allow you to delvier the vaccinations and countermeasures much further, and possibly reverse some of the more drastic aspects of the contagion."

"You could…Reverse the Trogs?" he asked.

"Well, no. But make them less aggressive, and possibly able to function within society. Many people throughout history have lived engaging and fulfilling lives despite conditions that inhibit or challenge aspects of their lives others might consider normal. And those who are in their early stages may be able to return to their former selves with minimal damage."

"That sounds like a miracle."

"I have accomplished miracles before, monsieur."

"Yeah I bet you have," he agreed.

"It's like watching a melon hit the ground after being dropped from a building," Marie muttered.

"Stop being rude," Midea told her.

"It will be expensive…" Dr. Curie admitted.

"Uh, how expensive?"

"It, eh…I have brought much of my own equipment, but I need power, a laboratory, and more supplies. Say…Twenty thousand caps?"

"Twenty _thousand?_ " he balked.

"And there's the splat!" Marie declared, and she took a drink of her Mutfruit before Midea could chastise her again. Wernher rubbed his head, stating,

"I gotta think of how I'm going to get twenty thousand, we've already got so much invested in improvements and expansion…"

"I know it is an exorbitant sum, and we do not need all of it right now, but for best results, that would be about the amount we would need for computers, equipment, specialists, and facilities," Curie explained.

"I'll…I can make it happen," Wernher assured it, "I can get it to you in chunks. For now, you can start by expanding the labs we already have, would that work?"

"That would be most exceptional, Monsieur."

"If you want to work out the details, perhaps we could meet…Over dinner?"

"He drops another melon…" Marie muttered.

"Marie!" Midea hissed.

"Oui, that sounds wonderful! Doctor Virgil has enumerated much of what we would require," Curie told him. Marie made a 'Squish' sound as she took another drink.

"Yeah," Wernher's voice broke, "Sure. Bring him along."

"I look forward to it, Monsieur Wernher. I will see you tonight."

"In the meantime, we've dedicated some room for her people near the University, with the other scientists and their families," Midea informed him.

"Hmm? Yeah, we got the room there, right? It's been cleared out?"

"It requires renovation."

"Well, we've got those guys from Broyhill up here don't we? They can get what they need from them. We'll get some workers up there, get it all fixed up. I'm sure there's plenty of people who would want the extra shift-hours without working in the mills."

"I look forward to making the Pitt our home," Dr. Curie said.

"We look forward to having you."

"If you would excuse me, Monsieur, I have much to discuss with the others," Dr. Curie told him.

"Of course. I look forward to having you for dinner. With…Doctor Virgil, of course."

She nodded, and took her leave. Midea rolled her eyes as Wernher continued to gawk at the door.

"Melon hitting the pavement," Marie announced. Wernher cocked an eyebrow at her.

"What?"

 ** _Worker Palace_**

"Doctor Curie?" a voice rang out as she left Wernher's office. She spun, and regarded a man wearing a Brotherhood of Steel robe. Her hand immediately latched to the weapon on her hip.

"Yes?"

"I am Scribe Liliana, of the Brotherhood of Steel. It is a pleasure to meet you," they offered their hand. She didn't take it.

"The Brotherhood has driven me and my friends from our homes, and murdered my closest friend. I have nothing to say to you," she snarled.

"I understand that Maxson and his men have been…Unaccommodating to the people of the Commonwealth, but he is not my Elder. I come from a different chapter, to the west. Your reputation as a scientist precedes you, even there. You are refugees as a direct result of the Brotherhood's actions. My chapter understands, more than most, the effects our actions can have on the communities we deal with. I was hoping to speak with you about your work," they told her.

"I have no reason to trust you," she declared.

"I understand. Few people do, these days. I look forward to gaining your trust, Doctor Curie. Have a good day," they bowed, and took their leave. Curie didn't take her hand off her gun all the way back to the camp. She knew the Brotherhood was here, and trusted that the Pitt's neutrality would protect them, but for them to approach her so openly, so soon? Perhaps it wouldn't be enough…


	22. The Goodneighbor Massacre

_**Galaxy News Radio, Throughout the Capital Wasteland**_

"Good Evening Capital Wasteland, it is I, your President, Arthur Maxson. It is time we discussed something important: How much of a tool I am," Three-Dog mocked Arthur's gravelly voice, then, in his normal voice, continued, "Oh. Wait. We already _beat_ those guys. You remember? Black armor, tried killing everyone? John Henry Eden's stupid broadcasts? We beat them. You know who led the Good Fight against him? At the time, he was a kid named Quentin Whitcomb. I called him the Lone Wanderer, looking for his dad and a GECK and some kind of hope, and he found it.

"He found it in you and me and he brought it everywhere he went. He teamed up with our local Knights in Shining Armor to do more good, to protect the little guy like me and you. He lost his dad, his only family, but he didn't have to wander alone anymore. He had brothers and sisters that trusted. He reached out to everyone, worked to bring the Capital Wasteland together and his work for the Good Fight? It never stopped.

"But after we lost him, we had a new hero. His apprentice, Arthur Maxson, but now, I've got mountains of reports that Arthur has taken good soldiers of the Good Fight, and turned them against the people of the Commonwealth. The Brotherhood of Steel is driving Ghouls out of their homes, rounding people up and putting them in prison camps, and they've reportedly turned the local militia up there into their patsies for their dirty work, now, Children, does that sound like the Brotherhood of Steel you grew up with? Does that sound like the kind of world that Owen Lyons envisioned for us? The kind of world Quentin wanted for us? Or his father, James, and the other eggheads that made Project Purity possible?

"It doesn't to me. Which is why GNR Plaza is no longer hosting the Brotherhood of Steel. As of right now, I'm kicking them out. That's right, I know you're listening: Leave. My. Radio. Station. Right now. This ain't a joke. If the Brotherhood of Steel is just going to make things worse, if they ain't gonna fight the Good Fight, I don't want to see your tin cans in my part of the ruins anymore"

 _ **The Memory Den, Goodneighbor, Commonwealth**_

"You know, Irma, I'm not sure I really want the pod today, I think I'm just gonna get some sleep," Kent told her as soon as he heard his door open. The light went out.

"Justice never rests, Mister Connolly," a gravelly voice declared, and he spun around to regard the shadowy figure in the doorway.

"It can't be!"

"You were entrusted with the Shroud, Mister Connolly. And now, it is time," the figure told him, and held out their hand, "I will bring justice back to the Commonwealth."

"You're dead!" he accused.

"Justice never rests," they repeated, "Not even for Death. Because Justice never dies. The Shroud, Mister Connolly."

Kent stood, and pulled out his desk, removing a fake wall in his room, and pulling out the Silver Shroud suit and hat, handing it to the figure.

"How did you survive the execution?" he asked.

"The wicked can never destroy the Silver Shroud!" they announced, putting on the hat, "Mister Connolly, you and your people are in grave danger. Use your radio, and evacuate as many Ghouls as you can from Goodneighbor. Then, escape. I will need your help."

"Help with what? What's going on, Shroud?"

"I am going to need to put together a team, Mister Connolly. And we will begin…With the Mechanist!"

 _Later that day_

The dog whimpered, ears flattened, giving the drifter puppy eyes.

"Huh? Get outta here you mutt! Get!" the drifter kicked at him.

"Woah, now, don't be an ass," Hancock told the drifter, "He's just tryin' to survive like the rest of us."

"Well he can earn it like the rest of us," the drifter said, biting into his sandwich. The dog started licking Hancock's hand, and he looked down at the canine. His eyes went wide.

"I don't believe it… _Dogmeat?_ Is that you, boy?"

Dogmeat barked, his ears going up.

"Oh, come here, boy! Who's a good boy, Dogmeat? Come on, in, I'll get you a nice steak, all right?"

"A steak…For the dog?" the drifter asked.

"Yeah. Don't you know who this is? This dog's earned it. Come on, Dogmeat," Hancock let Dogmeat inside, who climbed the stairs to Hancock's office.

"Uh, who's the mutt?" Fahrenheit asked.

"Dogmeat, the General's dog. I don't know how he got here, but I'm giving him a nice, juicy steak. So, uh, I guess I have a dog now, then," Hancock told her, starting up the oven. He paused just as he said that, and shut off the oven. He leaned against it, hanging his head. Dogmeat nuzzled his leg.

"Boss?" Fahrenheit asked.

"It's all right…Why don't you take the night off?" Hancock choked.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Go enjoy yourself, you've earned it," he assured her. She flicked her cigarette onto the ground, stomped on it, and left. Hancock slid against the oven, dropping his hat and clutching his face. He hadn't cried in years, not since he found out his brother was a Synth, and his real brother had been dead for decades. Nora had been there to comfort him. So had Dogmeat, who was now licking Hancock's face.

"She's gone…I can't believe she's gone…" he sobbed, hugging the mutt. His finger struck something on the dog's collar, and he opened his eyes. He pulled a note out of Dogmeat's collar, and read it.

 _The Brotherhood is coming. Save the Ghouls._

 _-Silver Shroud_

Hancock went cold.

"FAHRENHEIT!" he screamed. One of the Neighborhood Watch came running up as Hancock was armoring up. Dogmeat was gobbling up the steak Hancock was going to cook for him.

"Fahrenheit just left, boss," the Watchman said.

"Find her. Get everyone ready for an attack. Take as many Ghouls through Bobbi's tunnel as we can. Tell KLEO we need the biggest guns she's got," he ordered.

"Hancock, we haven't had a Super Mutant attack in over a year. Is it Raiders?" the Watchman asked.

"Brotherhood. _Go,_ " he snarled, and he went to the balcony.

"Everyone! EVERYONE!" he clanged on the bell, "Everyone get your weapons! We're under attack! Let's show the Brotherhood of Steel which town not to mess with!"

Many people were already running about. The message may have preceded him, so Hancock went back into the hall, and into the attic.

"Never thought I would need you," he admitted to the T-51 armor standing before him.

 _Minutes Later_

The Neighborhood Watch was lined up on the wall, armed with heavy weapons and donned in combat armor. Volunteers were running supplies or manning the wall with them. Vertibirds were starting to buzz overhead, but the main Brotherhood force was on foot, augmented by Minutemen.

"Hancock!" Colonel Walsh of the Minutemen called out. Hancock appeared in his Power Armor.

"Hey Irving. You've come a long way since your time in the Watch," Hancock said.

"Listen, this isn't personal. Nobody wants anyone to get hurt, just turn yourself over, give us the Ghouls, and we won't even enter Goodneighbor. The Brotherhood's not going to kill them, they…They're just going to be isolated, while the Brotherhood finds out which ones might go Feral. It's a health thing," the Colonel insisted. Everyone that could see his face saw that he wasn't looking directly at Hancock as he said it. He slumped, and tried to look small.

"And the Assaultron," a Paladin declared.

"Wait, what? No, you said the Ghouls-" the Colonel started to object.

"I'm gonna tell you what I told the Institute: Nobody. Messes. With Goodneighbor," Hancock declared, "You want our people? Come and get them, because we will fight you to the man to protect what we've built. If you take one step forward, we're gonna start peeling your buddies out of their suits, do you hear me? Of the people! For the people!"

"You heard them," the Paladin turned to his men, "Kill Hancock first. He falls, they all crumble."

"Do not think it would be so easy, Paladin Jorjo!" a loudspeaker echoed off the buildings around them, "Do not think that because of your armor and weapons, that you are safe! Or that you even stand a chance against Goodneighbor! Flee now, for Goodneighbor is protected….By the Silver Shroud!"

"Oh, no, no way," Colonel Walsh shook his head, "We don't want to mess with the Silver Shroud."

"What the hell is the Silver Shroud?" Paladin Jorjo asked.

"An assassin. A vigilante, even if we take Goodneighbor, if the Shroud comes after us, we're dead. The Shroud will _find_ us and _kill_ us when we least expect them. I'm not gonna risk my men taking one of our own damn towns if the Shroud is going to kill everyone involved in the attack. We'd never be able to _keep_ Goodneighbor!" the Colonel told them.

"Then we burn the town to the ground," the Paladin snarled.

"Naw. No way, we're not gonna help you do that. We're out of here. Minutemen! Pull back!" Colonel Walsh ordered, and the Minutemen started retreating.

"Cowards!" Paladin Jorjo hissed, "You! Scribe! Find the Shroud and put a bullet in him! Fat Men! Forward!"

"They got Fat Men!" a Watchman gulped.

"I warned you, Paladin!" the Shroud said, "And now, suffer the wrath of Justice!"

Before either side could open fire, grenades started to fall from the buildings around Goodneighbor. Instead of fiery or green explosions, however, they sent out electrical shockwaves through the Brotherhood ranks, shutting down their Power Armor, and giving the Neighborhood Watch the first shot. They, naturally, fired on the Fat Man bearers first.

The EMP grenades didn't last long, though, and the Brotherhood was back in the fight, especially as Vertibirds started landing troops behind the Goodneighbor wall. The Drifters and civilians found themselves pinned in the Memory Den and the Hotel Rexford, while others blew through walls between buildings to get to Bobbi's Tunnel. One Drifter decided he wanted to be part of the fight after all, and charged the Brotherhood soldiers with a ripper, only to be evaporated well before he engaged them.

The chaos of the EMP grenades prevented Paladin Jorjo from getting a total hold back on his men, as the squads were all tied up with fighting. Hancock was firing a shotgun whose pellets exploded on impact, which was proving to be devastating against any Brother that got too close to him. Jorjo picked up a Fat Man launcher himself, and lobbed the shell at the wall where Hancock was, blowing the wall apart. When the smoke cleared, nearly half the Watch was either dead, on the ground with broken limbs and burns, or on fire. He couldn't see Hancock and his armor.

"Into the breach!" Jorjo ordered, and the Brotherhood charged, clearing out the Neighborhood Watch once inside the wall.

"And now, Paladin Jorjo, you die!" the Silver Shroud's voice announced, and Jorjo spun around, to be confronted by someone in a silver trenchcoat and fedora. They were holding some kind of advanced rifle he'd never seen before.

"Who the-" was all he managed to say before the Shroud fired the weapon, and his armor seized up again. Behind the Shroud emerged Hancock, his armor blown off and the frame half-melted. He raised the shotgun and fired the clip into Jorjo, ripping through his own armor, and blasting his head clean off.

"Thanks, Shroud," Hancock coughed, "But I don't think we're gonna win this one."

"Goodneighbor is not a place, it is a people, Hancock. See to your people. I will avenge your homes," the Shroud instructed, "This I promise you."

"Yeah, all right. Oh, this dog. I think he belongs to you?" Hancock motioned to Dogmeat, who was standing vigil over one of the alleyways people were taking to escape.

"Yes. The most loyal of companions. We will regroup when the fight ends," the Shroud informed him.

"Good. And Shroud? It's good to have you back."

"It is good to be back, Mayor Hancock. Go with haste!"

The Shroud ducked into the alley, and Hancock sent out a signal to their snipers on the roofs: Escape. The Neighborhood Watch had been broken, and Goodneighbor could not be held.

But it would be avenged.


	23. Origin Story

_**RobCo Sales & Service**_

 _2 Days after the Goodneighbor Massacre_

Isabella had things pretty good these days, even with the Brotherhood Occupation. She had built robots for the Minutemen before, which they used as provisioners between the settlements. Few Raiders were willing to mess with a fully-armed Sentry bot regardless how much it was carrying or how slowed it was by the Brahmin. The parts they imported from the Pitt were much higher quality than anything she could assemble or salvage in the Commonwealth. It was engaging work for her, and she had been getting better at interacting with people.

The Brotherhood came back, and had searched the shop inside and out. She wasn't sure how they missed the rest of the factory deep inside, but she was relieved it had remained a secret. They had plenty of robots for her to maintain, and demand for more, so her workload had actually increased since the occupation, and they were still willing to pay her for it. After all, she had no affiliation with anyone but as a contractor for the Minutemen. They had no idea that she had been one of Nora's most important supporters the entire time.

She hadn't known about the coup, but Isabella's robots had been an integral part of Nora's infrastructure. Isabella had made it a point to shut down or recover as many of the Spybots and secret robot stashes they'd established, to prevent the Brotherhood from recovering them and discovering the truth. She was constantly afraid the Brotherhood would arrest her any day.

"Miss Cruz? Miss Cruz can you hear me?" ADA's voice came out of Sparks, and she jumped.

"AH! ADA, what-?"

"Miss Cruz, I need you to come into the factory," ADA told her.

Her heart sank. ADA had disappeared after Nora's death; she'd been the coordinating robot, the brains as it were, of the Minutemen robotic supply line. The Brotherhood had been searching for her, but with no success. If they found her here, it would be all over. Still, when she closed the store, she went into the factory. It had been crawling with robots after Nora took it over, most of them shut down or missing entirely. They had talked about starting it back up as a full robotics research lab, an extension of the school at University Point, but that was a moot point now. It had to remain a secret.

Isabella arrived at the factory floor, where ADA was standing with two men. She recognized of them right away: Nick Valentine, Chief of Police. The other was a Ghoul in a prewar suit.

"ADA? Who is this, what are they doing here?" she asked.

"Good to see you, too, Isabella," Nick remarked.

"I'm sorry, Nick. It's always good to see you, but what the hell is going on?"

"Hi, Miss Cruz, I'm Kent Connolly. I run-ran-the Silver Shroud radio station, back in Goodneighbor? I'd just gotten syndication, too…" Kent hung his head.

"I'm sorry, Mister Connolly. I know that meant a lot to you," Isabella said. He nodded, and looked her in the eye.

"What if I told you that the Shroud was real?" he said, straitening up and puffing his chest out a bit, trying to look confident. Isabella nodded.

"Yeah, Nora confronted me as the Silver Shroud, back when I was the Mechanist. That's how we met," Isabella told him; Kent slouched a bit.

"Oh. Well, she's not dead! She came back, as the Shroud! She warned Goodneighbor about the Brotherhood attack, and we got a bunch of people out of there before the Brotherhood burned it all down! She saved me, and all the other survivors! She's _back_ , and she needs our help!" Kent explained.

"How? The Brotherhood of Steel threw her off the Prydwen," Valentine demanded.

"Yeah but nobody saw it! They just reported it! Maybe she escaped, and they covered it up!" Kent reminded them, "Either way, she's back, and she wanted me to find the Mechanist. So I figured, if anyone knew how to find the Mechanist, it was Valentine."

"That was clever, using my old radio station to get in contact with me," Valentine complimented.

"Thanks! Anyway, Valentine showed me this place, and wow, this is something else! This is where all the robots come from, it's really neat! Sorry, I'm getting off-track. Point is, the Silver Shroud wants to put together a team, and she asked me to find the Mechanist. So we're here. We need the Mechanist. The Commonwealth needs the Mechanist."

Isabella shook her head, "No way. I vowed I was done with that. Last time, I killed people, I tried to kill Nora! I almost did! I won't do it."

"But she told me to find you!" Kent objected.

"She told you to find the _Mechanist._ I'm not the Mechanist anymore. I can help you find a new one, but I can't. I won't! I won't let people get hurt because of my mistakes," she insisted.

"Isabella, listen to me," Nick interjected, "If Nora asked Kent to find you, it means that she wants you to take it up again. She trusts you. And if Nora puts that kind of faith in you, then I've got faith in you. Last time you made mistakes, but this time you're not doing this alone. You've got friends who can help you. Think about it. The Silver Shroud is putting together a team. That can only mean one thing."

"The Unstoppables!" Kent declared, beaming.

"She wants to do the whole theatrical thing. Give people hope in these dark times," Nick said, "I know the Shroud didn't mention me, but I'm in. We've got the costume ready for you, Isabella. I won't force you. But we'd make a hell of a team."

"I will also participate in this," ADA announced, "I believe you should take the helmet again, Isabella. We need you for this. I believe you've come far enough, as a roboticist and as a person."

Isabella ran her hand through her hair, thinking. It was all so much. She had a good life going for her...Could she throw it all away? Should she?

"Isabella," Kent started, "When I saw the Shroud fighting the Brotherhood in Goodneighbor, she had help. Hancock was there, in full Power Armor. I look at this place, and I look at you, and I think…What if you'd been there, with your robots? What if the Mechanist and the Shroud had both been at Goodneighbor? It might have made all the difference. You couldn't possibly have known, or saved Gooodneighbor. Nora couldn't do it. But we can do it for the next town. We can put up a real fight against the Brotherhood."

Isabella nodded, "All right. For Goodneighbor."

"YES! Oh, man, the Shroud's gonna be thrilled! Oh, man, we got the Unstoppables now! All right, we need new names for you two. Let's see, Nick, you're a detective, but you're also a guy, at least I assume you identify as one? So let's go with-" Kent started, rubbing his chin as he thought of a name.

"Now hold on, I didn't-"

"Mister Mystery!" Kent declared, "And ADA, we can make you Wonderbot! I can coordinate you guy over an encoded radio frequency, so whenever we need you, just listen into the radio, and BAM! The Unstoppables are there! Oh this is gonna be so great!"

"Now hold on there, newsman-" Nick tried to stop him, but immediately regretted speaking as Kent's grin returned to full stretch.

"Newsman! Yes, that's PERFECT! I'll be Newsman, on the radio, pointing the Unstoppables where to go next! Mister Mystery, you're the greatest!"

Nick sighed, "I aim to please. We're only four people. We're gonna need a bigger team to take on the Brotherhood with than this."

"You're right," Kent nodded, "We're gonna need…Oh, Manta-Man! There's a Manta-Man running around Watertown with a Junk Jet! We should get him in on this, armor him up!"

"All right, that's a start. Now, for other candidates, I'm thinking, maybe-"

"Oh and we need a Grognak the Bar-"

"KENT! I'm talking!" Nick snapped.

"Sorry…"

"Preston Garvey. We could costume him up, and when the time is right, he unveils his secret identity. Get the Minutemen to switch to our side, and we'll have more than a handful of costumed cooks to put up a real fight against the Brotherhood. I know how to get in contact with him, too, what do you think?"

"That's good! Oh, we could have him be the Patriot! Dress him up in red, white, and blue!" Kent beamed.

"What about Granite?" Isabella offered. Nick and Kent looked at her.

"Who?" they said together.

"He's some kind of guerilla fighter in a suit of Power Armor, fighting the Brotherhood out west near Champli. Maybe he'd be interested in joining the Unstoppables? I heard the Brotherhood talking about having a hard time finding him," she explained.

"That's perfect! He even already has his own name!"

 _ **Consortium Radio, Commonwealth-Wide**_

"This is Carla Cool, coming to you out of the Woo. Brotherhood of Steel patrols continue to dominate the streets of the Woo, clearing out the Classes that won't let them through their territory. Here's a word of advice: Stay out of their way. Nobody likes the Brotherhood of Steel, but trying to slow them down is a great way to get yourselves killed.

"The Consortium continues to deny them entry into their facilities; the Brotherhood maintained that the Consortium was founded and led by the Institute, but the Dean insists that the Consortium hadn't dealt with the Institute since the CPG massacre. A quote from his offices states,

"'Though our organizations were similar in structure and origin, the arrangement between the Consortium and the Institute was terminated generations ago when it was clear that the Institute did not have the interests of the Commonwealth at heart. Meanwhile the Consortium has been dedicated to maintaining the highest standard of living in the Commonwealth for its people, a mission that we will continue to pursue despite Brotherhood interference.'

"In other news, the radio personality and longtime supporter of the Brotherhood of Steel by the name of Three Dog, who runs Galaxy News Radio in the Capital Wasteland, has reportedly terminated his affiliation with the Brotherhood, evicting an entire platoon of Brotherhood soldiers from his compound. Three-Dog has urged the people of the Capital Wasteland to engage in nonviolent protest against the Brotherhood, and demanded that the Brotherhood of Steel pull out of the Commonwealth, and for the resignation of Elder Maxson.

"A listener has made a request that I make a statement. Now, Consortium Radio is an affiliate of the Consortium, but we do accept donations from most sources, and so I will oblige: If the man in the black suit likes to party, listen to jazz. Sometimes, the old sounds are the best.

"Reports of survivors from Goodneighbor continue to pour in…"

 _ **Vault 81**_

Nick sat on the ground, fiddling with the prosthetic he'd been given. A 'scientist'-almost certainly an Institute survivor-had provided him with a new covering and had fixed up a lot of the damage done to his chassis and coverings over the years. It was weird having skin on his hand again. He looked up at the moon and sighed. How were they going to get through this one?

Dogmeat came up to nick, panting happily, and Nick furrowed his brow.

"Dogmeat? What are you doing here, boy?" he patted the dog.

"He goes by Clue now. At least for the time being," a woman said, and he turned about to see the Silver Shroud. Nick smiled.

"Hey there stranger. Good to see you again."

She stepped down off the ledge, and scratched 'Clue' behind the ear.

"So what brings you out here, Mister Mystery?" she was speaking in a normal voice. It wasn't Nora's voice, but that was to be expected.

"I asked Preston Garvey to join the Unstoppables. He said no, said that he wanted to stay there for his daughter. I should have known. Shouldn't have asked, really. Wish I could be with Junior and Ellie right now. It hurts to be apart from them. Never thought…It would hurt this much…" he admitted, "You should tell him, Nora. That you're still alive."

The Silver Shroud sat, and took off her hat. It was a different face than Nick was used to seeing. Her new body was African-American, with a short afro. She had freckles across her face and a birthmark on her neck and jaw. A scar soured the left side of her face.

"I'm afraid…That I'm not Nora, Mister Mystery."

"Who else could you be?" Nick shook his head, "Only Nora and I knew about the Silver Shroud costume and where it was, and the Unstoppables? That's absolutely the sort of thing Nora would do."

"The real-the original Nora-she's dead. The Brotherhood of Steel really did throw her off the Prydwen," the Silver Shroud informed him solemnly.

"The 'real' Nora? As opposed to-" Nick's eyes widened, "As opposed to a copy…You're a Synth!"

The Silver Shroud nodded.

"How?"

"I can't go into many details, you understand."

"I don't expect many details," he conceded.

"The Brotherhood thought they were doing a complex memory extraction that went wrong. But the truth was it was the technology the Institute used to extract memories from someone they want to replace. The Brotherhood thought it went wrong, but it happened perfectly. It fried Nora's brain, left her a shell, which was why they executed her without a public trial. They didn't want anyone to know they'd turned her into an empty shell," the Shroud explained.

"But the memories were saved, presumably by a spy, and sent to someone with a Synth body, which they loaded into them. Is the old Synth…Still there?" Nick asked. The Shroud shook her head.

"No. This body was used by an Institute survivor, who found a Synth and wiped their memories to turn them into a slave. He hadn't bothered to load any new personalities into it, so there wasn't anything worth preserving. Once they had Nora extracted, they loaded her into this body, and here I am."

"You're talking as if Nora is in the past," Nick remarked.

"That's because I'm not sure if I am anymore. I…Know what I said to you, about being the original Nick Valentine's son, but I'm…Not sure if that applies to me in the same way. I have such a human body, and given the circumstances…I just don't know if I am Nora," she admitted.

"I know what Nora would say to that, and so do you," Nick told her, "You _are_ the new Nora. New body, but you're still the same person. You've got the same drive, the same passion. Committed to liberty, freedom, and justice. And I am damn happy to have you back."

She smiled, "Thanks, Nick. I'd like to tell Preston, but I can't. Not now. Not yet."

"Yeah. He'll understand. He'll be mad as hell, but he'll understand," Nick agreed, "So what now? Newsman and Mechanist are getting in contact with Granite. What's the next step, Silver Shroud?"

"The next step," she put the hat on, and switched to her Silver Shroud voice, "Is Manta-Man!"


	24. Rally, Unstoppables!

_**Fiddler's Green, Commonwealth**_

"You're too close," Knight Kane informed Initiate Washington.

"Huh?"

"You're too close to the trailer park."

"The people of the Trailer Park aren't hostile, why am I standing too close?"

"The people of the Trailer Park are fine. It's their guardian you have to watch out for."

"Who's the guardian?"

"Some nutjob with a Junk Jet. If we get too close he chucks stuff at us, and you're standing just inside of his range. Just take a couple of steps-"

CA-CHUN! A stuffed monkey smacked Initiate Washington on the side of the head, knocking him out before he hit the ground.

"Manta Maaaaaaan!" a voice called out.

"Good shot, buddy!" Kane shouted back, and dragged the Initiate out of the grass and out of Manta Man's range. She stabbed Washington with a Stimpack and picked up a cold piece of metal, which she pressed against the of the initiate's head. She groaned awake a minute later.

"Oh…What happened…." Washington clutched her head.

"Congratulations. It's a boy," Kane handed her the stuffed moon monkey.

 _Elsewhere in Fiddler's Green_

"Fear not citizens, for Manta Man will keep the evildoers at bay!" Manta Man declared. A couple of the settlers exchanged caps, one of them having just won a bet.

"Yeah, god job, Manta Man," the winner encouraged, "You're doing good work."

"I don't see how," a woman growled, "We make our money off the Brotherhood. Why would we want to piss them off by keeping this guy around? One day they're gonna get sick of it, and one of their sniper's gonna blow his head off."

"Until then, I'm gonna keep taking Jeff's caps," the winner announced. Manta Man brought his weapon to bear on a target much closer, shouting,

"Halt! Who goes there?"

The other three spun around to regard the two figures standing in the dark.

"Friends," one held up their hands, and stepped into the light, "You may remember me?"

Manta Man grinned, "The Silver Shroud! It is good to see you!"

"And we, you, Manta Man! We have come to deliver a message."

"What's this?" the woman demanded.

"Twenty caps says it's some kind of superhero team-up," Jeff bet his friend.

"No bet," his friend snickered.

"What kind of a message?" Manta-Man asked.

"A message…Of Justice. Of truth, and freedom for all. Join with us, Manta Man. The Unstoppables need you!" the Silver Shroud declared.

"I told ya," Jeff said.

"Who am I to deny the Silver Shroud, or Lady Liberty? I will answer the call! Manta Man is proud to stand with the Unstoppables! But these people, they need my help! If I leave, I can't protect them from evil! What do we do?" Manta Man asked.

"Go, we can protect ourselves," the woman told him.

"If any town needs the Unstoppables," Mister Mystery stepped forward. Nick's costume was a tuxedo, with a masquerade mask hiding his upper face and eyes. He produced a cylinder from his coat, "They can press the button on this device, and the Unstoppables will respond. Just listen to the Unstoppables radio drama channel, and Newsman will make an announcement."

He handed it to Jeff, who looked the device over, "Some kind of transmitter?"

"Something like that. But don't show it to the Brotherhood of Steel; they might start taking them from other towns," Mr. Mystery told them.

"We'll keep it safe," the other man promised.

"Get out of here ya freaks!" the woman commanded.

"Come, Manta Man! Justice awaits!" the Silver Shroud led them away, and the three heroes stepped into the shadows once again.

 _Shortly thereafter_

"So, what manner of villain requires the Unstoppables to rally?" Manta Man asked.

"We fight the greatest villains of our time, Manta Man. First we must free this land from the Steel Tyrant, a despot who has usurped the Brotherhood from its rightful leaders, and set them upon a path of tyranny," the Silver Shroud explained.

"Hold up, I see something," Mr. Mystery said, and they crouched, walking over the hill to peek below, where they saw a group of Super Mutants.

"Mutants! Vile creations of science gone awry!" Manta Man hissed, "And so close to Fiddler's Green!"

"Should we take them out before they get too close to the trailers?" Mr. Mystery asked.

"Hold," the Shroud instructed, "I see something."

"-Back to Strong. At least we eat with him!" one mutant complained.

"Strong is weak! Strong spend too much time with humans!" another affirmed, "We are Super Mutants, we will inherit the Earth, make man suffer for his arrogance!"

"Man has beaten Super Mutant! Fight over, Mutant must survive or die! I will go back to Strong with a radscorpion, ask for forgiveness. Be a hunter, not a fool!" the first mutant insisted.

"You as weak as Strong! Worse, weak as radroach! You not worth keeping around!" a third said.

"He know where we goin'," a fourth mutant pointed out.

"True! I say we kill you, keep Strong from finding out!" the second agreed.

"Follow my lead," the Shroud said, and she started down the hill.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Mr. Mystery hissed, but Manta Man was right behind her.

"It calls!" the Silver Shroud declared, approaching the mutants, who all pointed guns at her, "And you respond! That is why you are out here!"

"Look what we have! Human, ready to eat!" the third Super Mutant laughed. The Silver Shroud looked at the first Super Mutant, ignoring the others.

"I am a friend of Strong, and I have seen him drink of the Milk of Human Kindness that grants him his power! It called to him, and brought him to glory! You, too, hear a call!" the Shroud told the first Mutant, "But you do not understand it."

"What-What are you, Human?" the first Mutant demanded.

"I am the Silver Shroud! We are the Unstoppables, and I have been entrusted with a most sacred honor. You see, I have been entrusted with the Axe!" the Shroud declared.

"Oh, no…" Mr. Mystery groaned, "Don't tell me…"

"Shoot humans, not talk to them!" the second Mutant demanded.

"You left Strong not because you saw his weakness, but because you felt a similar call. Justice has brought us together this night. You feel it in your bones," the Shroud told the first Mutant, "Do you deny this? Am I wrong?"

"I not feel like I belong in the Hunters. Want more, thought fighting Humans would make the feeling go away," the Mutant admitted.

"It isn't bloodlust that calls you, but the Axe. It has waited for a proper wielder for nearly two hundred years, but you hear its call, because you are worthy! Come with us! Find your destiny! I can bring you to the Axe!" the Shroud promised.

"Yes! Find Axe!" the Mutant shouted.

"You stupid to listen to Human!" the second Mutant snarled, "Kill them all!"

Mr. Mystery shot first, blowing a hole in the second Mutant's head. Manta Man was slow to bring his weapon to bear given its size and what it needed to function. The Silver Shroud produced her gun, and fired, while the Super Mutant engaged the fourth with his sledgehammer. The third Super Mutant opened fire on Mr. Mystery, but only hit armor, and a CA-CHUNK! Rang out as Manta Man struck him in the chest with a cinder block. The Mutant banged his chest, which promptly was perforated by Mr. Mystery and the Silver Shroud.

The Super Mutant with the sledgehammer was the stronger and more skilled fighter, allowing him to break his opponent's board, and bring the hammer down on his brother's head. He took a couple of breaths, and licked the blood off his hand.

"Humans fight good!" he admitted.

"That is because we fight for something greater than ourselves! We fight for Justice! Come with us, and you, too, will fight for Justice! I will bring you to the Axe, and we will see if you can pass its tests!"

"What will Axe do?" the Super Mutant asked.

"The Axe will test your mettle. It will push the boundaries of your mind and body. You will constantly be proving yourself to it, both as a warrior and a hero. But that lust to wander, to discover, will be filled with meaning, with righteousness!" the Shroud told him.

"I not know what Rye-chuz-niz is," he admitted.

"Righteousness means being in the right. It means sharing, and caring for others. Making others strong, and becoming stronger for it. Be willing to sacrifice everything for the cause, and you will turn out victorious, my friend! But I must first bring you to the Axe. Come with me, be reborn!"

"I can't believe we're doing this," Mr. Mystery grumbled.

 _ **Lynde Brook Super-Duper Mart, Western Woo, Commonwealth**_

Newsman felt a gun being placed against the back of his head. He held up his hands.

"…Are you Granite?" he asked.

"Who are you? Why did you send me that message?" a voice asked through Power Armor speakers.

"I'm the Newsman. I represent an organization interested in your activities. And that," he pointed, "Is the Mechanist."

The Mechanist pointed a tesla gun at Granite, who turned his head to regard her.

"Like from the comic books? Seriously?" Granite scoffed.

"And that is Wonderbot," Newsman nodded the back. ADA, modified with a much larger Sentry chasses, spun her Gatling Laser for effect. Granite let out a grunt, and lowered the gun.

"All right. You got me. Now what do you want?" he demanded. Newsman turned around to look at Granite. He was wearing a black suit of X-01 Power Armor and holding a Plasma Rifle, with a Plasma Caster slung around his back.

"Like I said, I'm Newsman. We represent the Unstoppables. We figured, since you're already fighting the Brotherhood of Steel, you might want to team up," Newsman explained. Granite looked between them.

"You're not lacking for firepower. Or brains, for that matter. Clever, hiding an Enclave code inside the Jazz station. How'd you know that I would pick it up?" he asked.

"Because we know who you are, and where you're from," the Mechanist informed him, "Once it was clear you were from the Airport, we knew you were Enclave."

"The problem is, if we could figure that out, so could the Brotherhood, and that wasn't a secure radio station. So if they were listening in, and they find the signal, they might decode the message," Newsman pointed out, "So we can't pull the same trick twice. Which means we can't ask you a second time."

"It's a one-time deal," Granite surmised.

"I mean, sort of. If you were to find us on your own, we'd be happy to have you either way. But this is the only time we can reach you, without the Brotherhood following us," Newsman explained.

"You're putting together a Resistance group, using the comic book heroes as symbols. You want me to join, because we have a common enemy, and because of the armor," Granite said.

"Exactly. I understand if you don't want to give up your autonomy, if you've got your own anti-hero thing going on. I get it. But we're stronger together," Newsman told him.

"I'm in," Granite announced.

"I'm sure if you changed your mind later, we could figure out a way for you to contact us-" Newsman continued.

"Newsman, he said he'll do it," the Mechanist interrupted.

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah," Granite affirmed, "I trained to be part of a unit, and I'm not an experienced survivalist. I'm on my own, doing hit and run against the Brotherhood. Weak targets, of no consequence. Eventually they'll send someone with a lot more guns and experience than I do, and they'll hunt me down and kill me. I'm barely surviving on my own as it is. I'd love to have someone watching my back."

"Oh, that's great! The Brotherhood won't know what hit 'em when the Unstoppables are rallied!" Newsman beamed.

 _ **The Mechanist's Lair**_

"Why is there a Super Mutant here?" the Mechanist demanded once they'd returned.

"I am Grognak!" the Super Mutant held up the Axe, "Defender of the weak! Champion of virtue! I am worthy of the Axe, and will prove myself in combat and in life!"

"We got a GROGNAK?" Newsman squeaked.

"You have a Grognak," Granite chuckled.

"We have a Grognak," Mr. Mystery sighed.

"I thought you went to recruit Manta Man?" the Mechanist asked, "And how did you convince a Super Mutant to become Grognak?"

"Justice knows no prejudice, and heroes can be found everywhere," the Silver Shroud announced, "Grognak and Manta Man are not the only heroes we have recruited, either."

"According to my databases, the Unstoppables only consisted of five core members. We currently have seven," Wonderbot pointed out, "Our organization has gone well beyond the parameters of our source material."

"True, but none of them adopted alter egos from our inspirations, but rather constructed my own. Truth be told, I had already assembled a team before approaching any of you," the Silver Shroud admitted.

"Wait, really? Who?" Newsman asked.

"Brotherhood!" Granite called out, aiming his Plasma Caster at a series of figures that appeared on the catwalk above, two of them wearing Power Armor.

"Hold, Granite. These are the other Unstoppables. Let me introduce them," the Shroud held up her hands, "First is Glory, a freedom fighter for all Synths."

"Hey," she said.

"Next is the True Steel, a former Brotherhood soldier who had been cast out when the truth of his own Synth nature was revealed, but he has always held their tenants at the core of himself."

"It is an honor to meet you all," Danse declared.

"Next is Nimbus, a Brotherhood pilot who has seen the path his Order is taking, and seeks to change it."

"Ad Victoriam, Unstoppables," Nimbus saluted.

"Next is Atom Cat, who refused to give up her beliefs or her armor to compromise with the Brotherhood, even if it meant alienating her new family."

"Ya'll can call me Rowdy when I'm not in my armor," she assured them.

"And finally, and most importantly, is the Lone Wanderer, hero of the Capital Wasteland."

"I gotta say, this is the weirdest plan I've ever been a part of. And it's not even the first Super Hero fight I've been a part of," Quentin admitted.

"And together? We're the Commonwealth's greatest heroes!" Newsman declared, "Rally, Unstoppables!"


	25. The Canal

_**Coast of Panama**_

The PMV _Valdez_ had been anchored off the coast for weeks, with hundreds of passengers and tons of cargo. Very few people knew that the cargo was 'a literal army of robots'; officially they were weapons and supplies for the peacekeeping operation. That was, technically, true, in a sense, but they didn't need to know the specifics.

The biggest problems of launching the expedition had been solved early: The Valdez's navigation system was ancient, but functional, since it had been fixed by the Chosen One during his adventures. There were a large number of repairs that needed to be done, but the Shi and NCR had already conducted those with the intention of using the tanker for exactly this sort of expedition, though they had intended on trading with Japan or South America.

The second problem had been fuel. The PMV Valdez relied almost entirely on fossil fuels, and scarcity of fossil fuels was the whole reason for the whole 'Apocalyptic Wasteland' in the first place. There was no single solution to this. The Shi were able to synthesize a large amount of fuel, which was the main way of turning the propeller and powering the ship, but different solutions had come from different sources. Solar panels had been installed everywhere they could be fitted on deck, so its batteries would charge during the day. Governor Vance had donated a few fusion generators, as well, which contributed to the power generation.

Now, their biggest problem was the Panama Canal. The _Valdez_ was anchored and using the solar panels to power itself, so it could sit nearly indefinitely.

"Fixing the canal is a process that could take years," Head Scribe Trapezium said, "We should go around South America and come back around."

"But if we can fix the Canal, we can use it again in the future, it's worth investing our time!" Zhao Mei, Trapezium's opposite in the Shi, pointed out, "In fact, the Panama Canal is one of the reasons the Shi agreed to this venture. We won't ignore it!"

"We can't spare the resources to sit on the canal, we're going to need everything on the East Coast!"

"Stop it!" the Governor barked at them, "We're going to stay another week. If we can't fix the canal by then, we go around, and we leave some people behind. I don't care if we'd be understaffed, we can't afford to go around the continent twice."

"What do you mean?" Zhao demanded.

"I mean, we don't have the fuel. If we tried to do it twice, we'd lose fuel by the time we reached Peru on the way back. If we have the Canal working by next week, we could go to New York, return to San Francisco, and come back to New York before running out of fuel, but with what we have, it's a one way trip around South America, unless we have the Canal working on the way back, in which case we'll _probably_ be able to get back to San Francisco. At worst, we'd have to be towed in from central Baja."

"What do you mean we don't have enough fuel? Why weren't we told about this?" Trapezium demanded. She scowled at him.

"I'm sorry, I should have thought to park our _two-hundred-fifty-year old tanker_ at the local _gas_ station where we can just _fill it up_ with the _specific type of fuel_ that CAN'T BE SYNTHESIZED WITHOUT MONTHS OF PREPARATION! We were lucky to get this thing _launched_ much less get it this far! Now don't get _uppity_ with me because this expedition isn't _perfect_ but it still needs to happen, because if it doesn't, we risk the _entire_ east coast going to war. If you don't think that won't drag the NCR, the Shi, and the Brotherhood into it, you had better _open your damn eyes._

"The world is starting to shrink again. Just because the Brotherhood decided to turtle up in their little bunkers, and the Shi decided they were too much the special snowflakes to participate in nation-building, doesn't mean the rest of the world hasn't moved forward. That's another reason we're out here: To move forward. To prove that we can do this. The fact we've gotten this far shows how far we've come. The fact we've done it _together_ is a testament to what we've already accomplished."

They were silent for a moment, before Zhao Mei said,

"Did you just tell me to open my damn eyes?"

Governor Vance paled, "I am _so_ sorry, I didn't mean it like-"

She laughed, "It's all right, Governor. I thought that was funny. You're right. We've gotten a lot done. Scribe Trapezium, if you are willing to help us with the Canal, we might be able to get the pumps working again. But we're going to need access to some of the Brotherhood's technical data. I'd be willing to trade our data on power relay couplings in exchange, it might make your own systems more efficient, if the Brotherhood is still using prewar bunkers and Vaults."

"If this is what it takes, I vow that we will get the Canal to work again," Trapezium agreed, "Even if it is for the return trip."

"Excellent. Now that we've agreed to possibly strand ourselves out here in a foreign, hostile country, let's go get to know the natives.

 _ **Panama Canal**_

 _Hours later_

The locals all spoke some kind of altered Spanish, and while Governor Vance spoke Spanish fluently, she wasn't fluent enough to make sense of the local mutation of it. As such, she had brought Raul for this trip for exactly this kind of purpose. Oddly, the local tribe that inhabited the area around the Canal took to Raul as some kind of honored Elder and inducted him into the tribe once he had told them he'd been around before the 'Great Cleansing.'

"There's not as much radiation out here, see, except where the nukes hit the Canal," Raul explained, "So the only Ghouls that are as old as me died out a long time ago, or are all Ferals. To have a prewar Ghoul is a great honor for their tribe."

"Do they expect you to stay?" Sue asked.

"No, but they expect me to visit. Which, if there's enough going on here, I've got plenty of work to do, so I don't expect that to be a problem for them," he told her.

"What do they say about the Canal?"

"They say that it's cursed blessing. They can't settle on the southern side of it because of another tribe that drives them away when they try. But it also keeps that same tribe from raiding on the north side of the Canal. Unfortunately, the Canal is filled with what they call _'C'sanquito.'_ "

"…Mosquito?" she wondered. He nodded.

"Big bugs that will drain you dry of blood, they say. Spears aren't effective because they're too small. Fire fends them off. The tribe on the south side likes to send sacrifices to the Canal. They say the southern tribe is full of crazies, but I'm sure the southern tribe says the same thing about them."

"Have we encountered the southern tribe yet?"

"Not yet."

"All right, can I meet their chief? Or…Whatever?"

"In a way you're talking to one, but yeah. Let's go meet him," Raul led her just outside of the canal, where a village was built out of junk and wood. The village seemed to stop exactly at the pavement.

"They call us Concrete-Walkers because we dare step foot on the concrete of the canal," Raul explained. A group of children were cheering and gathering around them, asking questions neither of them could follow. He laughed, and shooed them away, but Sue didn't help by producing a bag of candies, eating one, and then starting to distribute them.

"You're incorrigible," Raul remarked.

"I like kids. That's why I got so many of them," she insisted. It was sort of true; Sue only had one son, but she had started an orphanage, which she funded and taught at, "I wasn't sure about bringing Follows-Chalk and Rafael along, but they seem to be enjoying themselves."

The Chief was a man named Pedro. He wore a coat made of Jaguar furs and a weapon built out of the skull of a creature known as a Chupacabra, a sort of smaller, hairy Deathclaw that was even faster than their northern cousins.

"Chief Pedro, it is good to meet you," Sue said in Spanish. Since Raul didn't translate, she assumed it was clear enough, "I am Governor Sue Vance, of a nation of people to the north called California."

"I speak English," Chief Pedro declared. Sue raised her eyebrows.

"Wait, really? How?"

"We're in Panama. Before the War, it was occupied by Americans. Many of our scouts can read English. Some of the old Ghouls speak it, if we can find them. Me, my father was a member of the Enclave, and made sure that I learned it. I can understand you and your people perfectly well," he assured her.

"…Oh. So when Scribe Trapezium was talking about-"

"How we're 'rock-banging savages who don't appreciate what they sit upon,' yes, I understood him perfectly well. And yes, I am perfectly aware of what it is we are 'sitting on.' It's the reason my father came down here in the first place," he told him.

"Well this is off to a fantastic start," Sue sighed, "If it's any consolation, I tore into him for that."

"It still shows how little regard the Californians have for our people and our ways," Pedro pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. And, uh, I know I haven't acted in your best interest, either. We need to get the Canal working again, and we want to use it again in the future. Some people are going to see you as an obstacle to that goal, and I don't want that to happen."

"We wouldn't be able to stop you if you really intended on taking the Canal," Pedro admitted, "My father tried his entire life to devise a solution to your problem. It consumed him. What makes you think you can do it in the next couple of weeks?"

"In a few hours, I once fixed a solar power plant that the best minds of the Brotherhood and the NCR couldn't figure out. I have some of those best minds _with me._ I also have Raul, and the plans for the pump system that we salvaged from an engineering firm in Los Angeles."

The chief paused, "That is a considerable advantage over my father, I'll admit."

"The NCR, the Shi, and the Brotherhood are all going to want to control the Canal. They're going to get it fixed one day, and you're going to be seen as a nuisance-unless we define, _today_ , that the Canal belongs to you and your tribe. We're here to help keep it running, and keep it open."

"Why would you want to give the Canal to us?"

"Because I've seen what my country does to tribes that are a nuisance. I don't care for it. I would rather see you become our friends and our partners rather than shuffled off to a reservation to die a slow death. I won't be responsible for that happening again. I'd like there to be some way to do this that you define, rather than this being a one-sided offer. Did your father…Find anything?"

The Chief nodded, "He gained considerable access to the computer systems, and he designed a way to push the water in and out of the damaged zones with the technology we have, which he proved would work. Only we know how they're made or how they work, or where they are."

"All right. I know this next question is _super_ racist, but I gotta know, do you have a writing system? Because if we're going to write treaties, they're going to be in _your_ language."

"Why the interest in making this out in our favor?" he asked. Sue rubbed the back of her neck.

"I was responsible for a tribe being rounded up and shuffled off to a reservation so they would be out of the way. If I'd been Governor right away I'd have been happy to keep them where they were, but…I convinced the tribe to join the fight against our enemy, and put aside their history with the NCR. They agreed, and when the fighting was done, their reward was getting shipped off to the furthest frontier they could manage. They've been dying a slow death since, and I made that happen, because I wanted another ally to fight against our enemy. They trusted me, and they trusted my judgment. Back then, I didn't have official power to change it. I do now."

"We're not here to ease your conscious."

"No, but I can avoid adding more to it. Would you be willing to come to a deal?"

He paused for a moment, and nodded.

"Excellent," Susan said, "I'll let the others know. I look forward to working with you and yours."


	26. Family

_**Voice of Empire, Empire-Wide**_

A thick Bonkers accent chimes over the radio as Chuck Berry's song comes to an end, "So, here's the scoop. We all know that the Brotherhood betrayed King Francis at the summit, right? Bastards. Well, we got more details comin' in. So this is how it went down, near as I could tell: The folks at the Commonwealth were sick of Maxson, so they intended to take him down at the summit. Seems their General wanted to be Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, too. Woman after my own heart, I gotta say, this dame, let me tell ya about this dame, Nora Killinger? Crawls out of a vault, okay, three years ago, kills basically every gang on the Commonwealth, I'm talking about guys that King Francis was havin' a hard time killin', which was why he chased 'em into the Commonwealth to begin with. She gets this crew together, they'd run together for, like, ever, they're called the Minutemen, right? This crew, the Minutemen, were like an army, the way all the Crews-Excuse me, Lords' Retinues-are now, rather than gangs.

"So, anyway, she gets these guys back together, and they start takin' out EVERYONE that gets in their wy. These big, ugly green mutants called Super Mutants-you can find these guys in DC and in the Commonwealth, and I hear they got 'em out west, to-She wipes the floor with 'em. Now they're like hunters, or something. She killed, let's see, Tower Tom, he was big back in the day. Oh, and Slag. Yeah, Slag used to be big-time out here in Empire, burned his way across upper Empire until King Francis kicked him all the way to the Commonwealth, but Slag was a tough bastard. Yeah, Nora and the Minutemen? Took him out in one battle. Then, once she's done with those assholes, she takes out this compound full of robots or something like that, called the Institute. Blows them up with their own power plant! Everyone loved this lady, and if they didn't love her, the thought of her made people crap their pants. I-LOVE-this-lady, let me tell ya.

"So anyway, she decides that Elder Maxson, he's done something to piss her off, so she plans this coup, but Maxson, he found out about it, so instead of sitting down eating cheese with the President of the UC and King Francis, they all start shooting at each other. Maxson gets his hand cut off, blood everywhere, it was great, from what I hear. General Killinger gets captured, and they throw her off their big airship thing. Tough break for one of the toughest ladies out there. I'd have loved to run with her crew.

"Anyway, in the summit, the Brotherhood takes King Francis, too, and tried to make him sign a treaty. But King Francis, he ain't one to back down. So they still got him locked up somewhere. So in case you were wondering why Princess Francine has you throwin' your useless ass at a wall of steel jackasses with laser guns, it's because those jackasses took the jackass we're all supposed to listen to _hostage._ Oh, sorry, our 'Good and righteous King Francis.' If that don't spike your Psycho, then you just don't love your country enough, so go kiss a flag or something, and try to shoot some Brotherhood pricks before they turn you into ash, all right?"

 _ **Panama Canal, Panama**_

"MOM! HELP!" Rafael screamed as the intruder grabbed him and stuffed a rag into the boy's mouth.

"Ya ain't g-g-g-gona git away with this, ya v-ar-var-var-varmint!" Victor warned, disassembled into a dozen pieces, "The b-b-b-b-bbbbb-boss is gonna git-gonna git-gonn git you!"

"Shut up, robot!" the intruder spat, "Where is it?"

The intruder started picking through the Governor's dressers and containers, tossing clothes and guns and ammo on the ground with little regard for their worth. Even bottlecaps and stacks of dollar bills were tossed aside as the intruder searched the room, threw the mattresses over, banged on the walls looking for hidden panels, but finding nothing.

Two NCR rangers burst into the room, shouting at him to drop to the ground. The intruder glared, but obeyed, and Sue entered the room. She saw her son, tied and gagged, and Vic in pieces. Sue pulled a pistol from its holster, and placed the barrel against the intruder's forehead.

" _Talk. Or die."_

"You are a greedy woman! You have taken so much from tribes that are not your own, did you not think you would take something that would be missed? You are a pillager of-"

She smacked him cross the face with the butt of the gun. Blood rolled out of his eye.

" _Talk._ "

"The Vault Suit," the man said, "You stole it from its rightful place in our temple in Arroyo."

"That suit belongs to _me._ Of all the relics and pieces of prewar junk I've collected, that is the _one_ thing that is unquestionably _mine._ If Arroyo cared enough, they wouldn't have _lost it in the first place._ I didn't steal it from the temple. Their last 'champion' got himself killed by a pack of radscorpions, and I pulled it off his body. All things considered, I'd say I've lived up to its legacy a lot better than any of _you_ have."

"It is a holy relic of our people, and we _did_ send people to find it. That's why _I'm_ here, to take it from the _scavenger_ that defiles our heritage!"

Sue looked to the Rangers and said, "Tie him up."

The Rangers cuffed the intruder and pulled all his gear off. One of them unbound Rafael, who ran to his mother and hugged her leg.

"Take Rafael to get some water. Raffie, mommy will be with you in a moment, okay? She has to take care of this."

He whimpered and clutched her pant leg. She rubbed his head, "It'll be okay."

The boy went with the Rangers under promise of milk and cookies and stories. Sue held the intruder up to his feet by the throat.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't gut you and feed you to the bloodbugs."

"The High Elder sent me, to be the new Champion," the intruder choked, "I would be the third to fail him."

She let go, and sighed. She rubbed her eye and asked, "Do you know who I am?"

"You're the scavenger who became the Governor of Mojave. You go from tribe to tribe, steal their things and convince them you're a friend so you can keep your loot," he accused.

"My name is Susan Vance. I'm forty-one years old, and I was born in Vault City, one of the last people born out of the progenitor tubes. I didn't have a family. I had a class. I didn't have a name until I was five years old. So when I turned sixteen, I got the hell out of there. But I've been back since then. I looked at the records, and you know what I found out? I had family outside of Vault City. A donor, who'd been by eight years before. There was only _one_ donor back then, and only a few people who had immigrated to Vault City. Are you following where I'm going with this?"

"The High Elder is a Citizen of Vault City, he helped them join the NCR," the intruder said.

"And when he joined, he 'donated' to their 'genetic pool," she uncuffed him, "I assume Arroyo picks their 'champions' from his children and grandchildren?"

"…He is my Grandfather," he admitted, rubbing his wrists.

"When I found the Vault Suit, I knew that I was pulling it off of my own brother. I knew that I was leaving him in the desert to be eaten by critters. There isn't a _day_ that goes by that I don't think about that," Sue's voice broke, "But it was _the only proof_ that I wasn't a _science experiment._ If my father wasn't going to be there, he could at least let me have his damn jumpsuit."

"You should have told him," the intruder assured her, "He loves children! I have twelve aunts and uncles! Well, thirteen now. Which is a lucky number!"

"It just stopped being important after a while, you know? I had my own thing going on with my courier route. But now, I have a family. I have my own…Tribe. I feel like I got everything I needed from him. What…What's your name?" she asked him.

"I am Marcus! Named for the great hero who helped the High Elder save the world from the Enclave!" the intruder pounded his chest with pride. Sue laughed, and looked him over. He wasn't much older than Follows-Chalk had been when she'd met him.

"Tell you what. I'll tell the others this was just a big misunderstanding, and I'll give you the suit. If the High Elder wanted you to have it, then you should have it," she told him.

"Are you sure? If I had known it was one of the High Elder's children who had it…"

"You snuck onto one of the most sensitive operations _in NCR history_ , fooled everyone aboard, got into my room, disassembled my best combat robot, and would have gotten away with it if you'd thought about other security measures I had. You're good, kid. The High Elder picked good one. We could use your help. And it would be nice to…Work with family for once. Welcome aboard. I'm your aunt Sue."

"Thank you. I'm your nephew, Marcus."

"Good to meet you," she hugged him, and she opened a safe under her bed, and produced the Vault 13 suit.

"I got the PIP boy working about a year ago, and most of the fabric has been more or less replaced over the years, but here it is. My great-grandfather's Vault suit. Wear it with pride, Marcus."

He held it, running his fingers through the fabric, and said, "Thank you. This means a lot."

"It means a lot to me, too, so don't get it burned. We should tell the NCR not to shoot you on sight."

 _ **Wernher's Wing, Worker Palace, The Pitt**_

Werhner bounced a ball on his desk. He couldn't. Stop. Thinking. About Dr. Curie. He missed the ball on its bounce back up. He'd known her for a few weeks now, but he couldn't get her out of his head. She was smart, she was compassionate, she was tough. She was a bit naive, but not in that stupid get-yourself-killed kind of way, but in that silly not-quite-right kind of way. Wernher had to accept it.

He was in love.

He was doomed.

"Attendant?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you contact Dr. Curie, and see if she has time to speak with me? Uh, I'd like to speak with Midea before that, though, I…Got a…I want to talk with them."

"Very good, sir. Scribe Lilliana is here to see you."

"Oh. Yeah, see her-him? Which is it, do you know?"

"They prefer 'they,' sir."

"Right, send them in."

Lilliana entered, wearing a mechanic jumpsuit. Werhner thought that the tighter clothing would be more revealing of their base gender, but it didn't give him any clues. He decided it didn't matter.

"Wernher, thank you for seeing me."

"Your people settling in all right?"

"Just fine, thank you."

"What about the other chapter? How have they reacted to you being here?"

"Maxson's chapter…Need not know until we're ready to reveal ourselves. Right now, we've disguised ourselves as a group of engineers from out west. No symbols or titles they might recognize."

"If they start shooting at you, I'm not going to save your asses," he warned.

"Noted. I wanted you to know, the first shipment of fuel has arrived. It's still running on pollutants, but it should be much cleaner to run your generators on gas than on coal and peat."

"Not cheap, though."

"No, but you aren't splitting your coal between your turbines and your factories, either, and you need the carbon of the coal to make proper steel."

"Yeah, and the first hit of Jet is always free. How long is it gonna be until the Pitt is under _your_ Chapter's control because _you_ control all the gas? That's the thing: I don't _need_ your gas, but you need our steel."

Lilliana grinned, "We don't need your steel. Your steel makes things _easier,_ but we produce our own."

His heart sank, "Say again?"

"We have our own production facilities. We have been providing high quality arms to the surrounding communities for decades. We have no dependence on the Pitt whatsoever. However, it's more economical for us to work together and trade, than it is for us to work apart. We can provide you with cheaper fuel than what you're able to scrounge together from old piles of coal and the occasional mine. We can build new machines for the factories. Your steel is cheaper than our own. You have more labor, and an increasingly competent intelligence base. We don't have a dependence on each other right now, but one day? We will."

"All right. So what are you doing here? Other than getting us addicted to your gas, and getting addicted to our steel?"

"The Pitt has been neutral in the affairs of its neighbors since you took over, Wernher. But the Brotherhood of Steel has never functioned well by being too detached. Once upon a time, my chapter fought a great war against an army of robots. But we didn't do it alone. We recruited from every town, every community we could. We allowed Ghouls and Super Mutants to fight our battles. We even had packs of Deathclaws to tear apart our enemies, and my ancestor, a great warrior, who came from humble origins, decided that we had to act better than our founders. So when the war was done, we retreated. We kept up relations with our neighbors, but let them be."

"You're the Inquisition…"

"Yes. We went by that name during that war."

"And now you want to do the same thing, except with the Pitt?"

"Yes, and no. We are already doing it to the Cincinnati Free State. A new war is coming, Wernher, with Ronto. We have reason to believe their resources are considerably more than previously believed, and we cannot stand against them alone. They will come for us. The Pitt cannot afford to be neutral. You will be swept away if you fail to make a difference, and I assure you, Ronto will not respect the Pitt's autonomy. We can help the Free State resist Ronto once and for all-but we can't do it without you."

"You want us to join them."

"More than that, Wernher. We want this war to be the last the East Coast fights against itself. It is our hope that, when the fighting ends, that there is a new United States. Maybe with a different name, and certainly with a different structure. But it must be inevitable. We must redefine our species as being one that comes together in the face of adversity, instead of driving itself apart when faced with fear. We can progress without you, if we must. But you must consider the Pitt's place in the world. Or someone will choose it for you."

"If I join with the Free State, Ronto will attack immediately."

"Then you're going to need allies in the strangest of places. Let me introduce you to someone. Attendant? There is a gentleman waiting in the lobby with a leather jacket and a considerably stylish haircut. Would you see him in?"


	27. War

_**Presidential Offices, Boston, United Commonwealth**_

"As accommodating s I'd like to be, Elder Maxson, I must object to your superseding my busy schedule for your own needs," President Zeke said, "That's just not cool, man."

"I apologize, then. We're not used to operating with organizations with such… _sophistication_ like the United Commonwealth," Maxson replied, glancing at the walls of Faneuil Hall, still being repaired.

"Hey. You're here now. Whatever. What do you want?" Zeke held out his hands.

"Needless to say, the Brotherhood is not happy with the United Commonwealth's part in Sentinel Nora's attempted coup, and your support in the last few months have been lackluster to say the least. We were hoping that the Commonwealth would be more _grateful_ for the Brotherhood defeating the Institute."

"Oh of course you would," Zeke muttered.

"What happened at Goodneighbor was unacceptable. We expect closer collaboration with the Minutemen in the future. Colonel Walsh's presence could have kept one of my best Paladins from getting killed, and _nothing_ has been done about this Silver Shroud and his gang. Not to mention the murder of one of my Paladins at Diamond City, but I have to say, I am pleased with how you've handled that. We haven't had an incident since."

Zeke had made it clear that Diamond City Security was no longer allowed to patrol the area outside of Diamond City; they had to stay within or atop the wall, but they could not leave it. The Minutemen had replaced Diamond City patrols in the area. Minutemen ranks were getting thin; many Minutemen were deserting their posts, and Zeke was forced to pay more to keep Minutemen coming back to work. Zeke's reputation was tanking; the Atom Cats didn't want anything to do with him anymore, but they at least did what he said. Rowdy had outright left, and joined the Unstoppables.

"It's been a trying few months. Nerves are getting frayed. The Brotherhood's help is appreciated, but people are starting to feel you've overstayed your welcome. You guys just gotta chill a bit, man. Let loose, listen to the music and just let it all flow," Zeke told him.

"We don't have time for recreation. We're fighting two conflicts right now, and the Minutemen haven't been enough. Which is why we've struck a deal with Ronto."

Zeke scowled; he hadn't heard anything about this. Then again, the Brotherhood had sent most of the BID on the run or into hiding, so his network was not the same.

"Ronto, huh? You do realize, they're the ones who unleashed one of the most ruthless, oppressive Raider gangs on us, right? A gang that the Brotherhood pressed an offensive against, alongside the Minutemen? You're throwing in with one of our enemies."

"A gang that was founded as a means of countering the Institute. They were a nuisance for our operations, which is why the Brotherhood crushed them. Ronto understands the sacrifices we're making to make the Wasteland a better place, and we have created an agreement for the future: Ronto will take over Empire, and the Brotherhood will control the flow of technology across the East Coast. The question is, will the United Commonwealth be part of that deal?"

Zeke took a breath, "Well, I guess I have no choice then, do I?"

 _ **Niagara Falls, Empire**_

"Dude, I don't understand what's so hard about this. You've memorized the names of every Grognak villain, and you can't be bothered to ask 'do I call you he, she, or they?' Seriously, it isn't rude. It might be a little weird for some people, but they'll get over it," Cutthroat said.

"Man you're just making a big deal out of nothing," Knucklebash whined.

"It's not nothing! They're pissed at you, and they're my friend! It makes them uncomfortable that you won't respect their identity, and so I don't get to hang out with them, because I spend all my time with you. Before they told you, you LOVED hanging out with Toebreaker. Why does this have to get between your friendship?"

"Man, 'cuz it's weird. Like, he's a mutant or something."

"Knucklebash, our boss is a Ghoul. He's an ACTUAL mutant. You don't have a problem with him! Toebreaker just doesn't think they're a guy or a girl, and just wants you to call them with neutral pronouns. People have been doing that for like, the entirety of human history."

"Really?"

"I mean, I think so. Toebreaker showed me this book, right, and they had someone read it to me, 'cuz, you know, how I get my letters all mixed up? And it talked about how gender isn't like, black and white, chicks and dudes. It's like…When you drank that funny Nuka-Cola, and you took a piss, and it was all those different colors for a few weeks? You know how those colors sort of blended in with each other between them? Gender's more like your funny piss color, that sort of blend together as you go from one to another. But, see, it's our preconceptions and our language that make us _think_ that there's only two, and the only reason that it doesn't come up, is because of assholes like you who don't want to bother learning a new world every now and again."

"So, like, if a chick is red, and a dude is blue, Toebreaker is like, purple?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. So….What's yellow?"

"I dunno. Someone who gets blowjobs from robots?"

"Huh. I could get behind that. I'll try to be more careful next time. I do like Toebreaker."

"They'll be glad to hear that. You, uh, might want to give them your next Nuka, though, or they might break your hand again."

"That's fair. Hey, are those guys wearing Ronto colors?"

"Oh forget that, let's shoot those pricks."

 _ **Francisboro, Empire**_

 _Hours Later_

"Princess…" Lady Blutarch panted as she ran up the stairs into the Princess's office. She'd just come from a battle, and it showed; her blue leather armor was torn and burned, she had bandaged on her arms and chest, and her sword was still dripping blood. Princess Francine was wearing a red gown that flowed to the ground; she had a Mr. Handy holding the back of it up for her.

"Yes?"

"Forgive my unannounced intrusion, and unkempt appearance, but…The Court of Niagara, it's been destroyed. Ronto, they cross the bridge, and they pushed us back. My own Vault, it's under siege. Please, we need the King's Army."

"If I move the King's Army, then we lose Albany to the Brotherhood of Steel."

"If you don't, we lose our kingdom to Ronto, your majesty."

"So it's war, then. I will have the Army pull out of Albany, but not before leaving the Brotherhood a few surprises. I'm putting you in command of my personal Guard, Lady Blutarch, and break the siege of your Vault. We can't afford to lose Ninety-Nine."

"Princes, your personal guard needs to be here."

"Why? I'm not going to be here. I'm going to Vault Ninety-Nine. I intend on eating one of those delightful snack cakes in three days, and if I don't get my snack cakes, I'm gonna crack someone's skull open with a book, all right?"

"As you wish, your Majesty."

 _ **Toledo, Cincinnati Free State**_

Toledo hadn't had much of a chance to recover from the last few battles that had been fought here. Only the docks had been fixed up, and much of the city was still tossed frmw hen it had been retaken by the Free State. It was an important port town for the communities along Lake Erie, a gateway to Michigan from the American side of the Great Lake. It was also important as a border, a clear line that said 'This is yours and this is mine.' The people of Toledo had once been staunchly independent of the Free State, an arrangement that the Free State had been happy to respect. They made their money as water-bound caravans and the occasional pirate before, but after Ronto had moved in, all their trade had been given to Ronto immigrants. The people of Toledo were happy to throw in with the Free State after that.

Now, Ronto boats coming in and out of Detroit were considered free game, and they were undergoing a golden age of piracy on Lake Erie. Out on the water there was no law; they were free to fight their war with Ronto as much as they wished, and if they retreated back to Toledo quickly enough, Ronto wouldn't be able to pursue, or risk the Free State and the Courts of Empire retaliating.

One such pirate crew aboard the _Springtime_ had just made a haul of recently processed Pitt iron, and had tossed the crew of the Ronto boat to join the Anglers for dinner. They were close enough to Toledo that they started their party early; they were going to get away with their crime, and become filthy rich for their booty. Whiskey and Mentats were busted out almost as soon as the docks came into view. A Ronto pursuit vessel was giving chase, but they wouldn't have the time to catch up. So it was ignored.

Their pursuer got close-closer than most Ronto vessels bothered. The Captain of the _Springtime_ had kept a clear head, but he made sure that if everyone was going to party, they were going to party at their stations. Just in case. They were close, but Lake Erie could be fickle; there was no way of telling what could happen next.

It had seemed that the Captain's fears were unfounded, though; they reached the docks with the Ronto vessel still closing distance. Missile turrets along the docks powered up once it became clear how much their haul was worth. The crew wheeled the crates onto the docks, and took their leave to continue partying at the earliest moment, leaving the dockhands to handle the rest. That was frustrating for the Captain, but they were pirates after all. No need to do any more work than necessary.

He knew something was wrong once the Ronto vessel stopped offshore, without turning back. He told the dockhands to move the loot into the warehouses as quickly as possible, and they started to hurry. A crack shouted, and a bit of fire spouted from the Ronto ship, and one of the missile turrets exploded.

"We're under attack!" the captain announced, and the Ronto ship fired again. Sirens started to screech along the docks, and cannons fired back at the Ronto ship from the shore. The Toledo Docks were really the only thing of worth in Toledo anymore, so that area had been built up with defenses and countermeasures. Even if Ronto took the city, taking the docks was going to be a bloody affair.

After a couple of volleys were exchanged, a humming could be heard from afar between the gunfire. The mortars had stopped, and intercept vessels were closing in on the Ronto ship, with the intention of either sinking it or capturing it with crews. Free State Defenders had been scrambled to defensive positions, expecting a blitz into the city; all eyes were on the seas and roads into town. Their eyes should have been on the skies.

Over twenty aircraft flew over Toledo, unlike anything anyone had seen before. They were small, single-person craft, with a propeller engine each on the front. A single red dot would have told the people below that it was time to fear the skies, if any had been looking up before it was too late. The planes opened fire, firing rockets at the positions below, miniguns tearing through squads, and ripping through the Toledo intercept craft, allowing the Ronto ship to get into the docks, and land their contingent of troopers, who immediately set upon securing the docks and nearby warehouses, using heavy armor and automatic weapons. The locals weren't ill-equipped by any means, but they were just a local militia, armed with whatever their squad could afford, which ranged from Flamers to pipe pistols.

Every Ronto soldier was armored with Combat armor, and armed with a combat or assault rifle. They seized part of the docks in a matter of minutes, entrenching their position for the inevitable counter-attack. It was only about twenty Ronto soldiers, which the Toledo militia could take quickly, although with casualties. The problem was, though, that the Ronto troops didn't need to hold out with twenty soldiers, because they had reinforcements.

Up from the waters, a number of ships splashed out of the lake, and Ronto soldiers tied them to the docks. Planks were extended, and the tops opened up, and more soldiers began to pour out of the submersibles. As the Toledo militia started to engaged the Ronto foreguard, more Ronto soldiers began to flank the locals. The planes above came in for more sorties, and one lucky missile struck the radio station that commanded the Toledo militia.

In what should have been a fight that lasted for days took a few hours. Ronto had retaken Toledo.


	28. Wasteland's Most Famous Playground

_**Atlantic City, New Jersey**_

The California Republic Vessel Valdez approached the shore; they had gotten the Canal working the week before, and everyone was grateful that they had finally arrived.

Locals had started lining up on the docks and shore as the ship pulled into the deepest dock. Over the loudspeakers, Governor Vance called out,

"Attention Atlantic City! Do not run, we are your friends! We come from the New California Republic, and our mission is diplomatic. We come bearing gifts and trade!"

Paladins, soldiers, and mercenaries began securing the dock. A small crowd had gathered, and a line of Securitrons armed with nonlethal weapons kept them behind a certain line. Their electrical weapons were obvious; they sparked with tesla coils and their tasers were obvious. Governor Vance approached them with a grin on her face.

"Hey! How are you?" she offered her hand to one of the locals, "I'm Sue Vance, NCR."

"I'm-I'm Ophelia," the local said.

"It's good to meet you, Ophelia. You from around here?"

She nodded.

"What do you do to feed yourself?"

"I-I'm, a, um…I, uh…"

"It's okay, we've all done things we're not proud of to survive. What's the one thing you'd like, more than anything else?"

"I-I don't have a home. I just sort of sleep wherever I can…"

"All right. Well, we brought enough tents for _thousands_ of people to sleep in, and we brought construction equipment, so we can build new houses and fix old buildings. Tonight, you're going to sleep on a cot with an actual pillow and a blanket. Sound good?"

Ophelia paused, and nodded.

"Let's see, how many people are here, one, two, three…A couple hundred, let's have a fish fry! Yes Man!"

One of the Securitrons' face flicked from the grumpy soldier face to the blank grin, "Hello there Governor! What can I do for you?"

"We got enough fish to feed all these people tonight, right? Without dipping into our supplies? Feed the troops, too?"

"Absolutely!"

"Why don't we make that a thing? Start some cooking fires, set up some tables, let's turn this into a good old fashion grilling!" she exclaimed, and the Securitrons started rolling out the supplies. Within a few minutes, the Securitrons had rows upon rows of tables and chairs lined up and ready for the feast. A cooking pit was hastily assembled by the robots, and some people approached from the boat.

"What is going on?" Captain Yancey of the NCR asked.

"Fish fry," Sue motioned to the crowd, who were starting to cautiously approach the party.

"A _what?_ "

"Basically, we're gonna feed all these people. Have a big party. Have a good time. Otherwise, we look like invaders, and we're gonna get shot at. We can delay offloading for a few hours. Anyone who isn't doing something can get something to eat, or, better yet, help out. We need more cooking pits."

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Trapezium groaned, but a few minutes later, some Knights rigged up a large electric grill, and NCR and Shi personnel were more than happy to share their family fish recipes for the party. People started bringing their own contributions: Nuka, booze, vegetables. The tables were quickly filled, and food was being eaten almost as fast as it could be cooked.

Sue shook hands, talked with people, and showed off her family. Follows-Chalk was not used to seeing this many people, even when he'd lived in new Vegas with Sue. Rafael, however, loved the attention, and did his absolute best to wave and say 'Hi!' to everyone that passed him by.

Atlantic City, or Great Lanta as it was commonly referred to as, was a hub of drug trafficking. Most people here were drug addicts or laborers for the gangs that did the cooking and smuggling. There was, however, one power that kept the gangs from enslaving everyone: The Church. It was a complex run by the priests, which kept the gangs in check by extracting 'tithes' from them, and redistributing the wealth to the people in the form of social services. They enforced it by being the only ones able to synthesize the more complex formulas needed to create things like Psycho and Mentats at the scale the gangs needed.

Both were going to be a problem.

Still, Sue didn't dwell on it; she had a party to enjoy.

 _The Next Day_

The dock had been littered by the party, but Sue had it cleaned up within hours by paying locals to clean it up. That was the biggest boon the party had created for them: The NCR could pay the locals for labor. The boat had only brought a few hundred people with them, but they needed a massive labor force, which they could now hire out locally. Some higher ranking officers were paying locals to be their personal servants, and others were being paid to act as local guides as the NCR scouted the area.

Sue, however, knew exactly where she was going to go first. The 52 Fortune Casino and Hotel, one of three casinos owned by Robert House before the war. Now, it belonged to her, but she had the little problem of squatters. A gang had taken up in the casino, and they were well armed with automatic weaponry. They aimed it her as she approached.

"Hello, gentlemen, would you kindly see me to your boss? I need to speak with him about some property reclamation," she said cordially to them. She was flanked by four Securitrons: Victor, Yes Man, and two soldiers.

"Get lost, Robo-Lady."

"I'm sorry you don't grasp the situation at hand," she said, and pulled out a pistol and blew the head off of one of the guards, and aimed it at the other. That Gun glowed green from the LED on the side. Sue grinned at him, " _Would you kindly see me to your boss?"_

The second guard held up his hand, and knocked on the door, "Hey, uh…We got someone here to see the boss…"

"Then shoot them!"

"They uh…They got me outgunned…"

The doors swung open, and a squad of raiders burst out. The Securitrons and Sue opened fire, mowing down a dozen of them within a matter of seconds. The guard cowered against the wall.

"To be fair, you _did_ warn them that we had you outgunned," Sue remarked, "We'll see ourselves in."

"Sorry about the mess, partner," Victor remarked, rolling over a corpse.

"No problem…"

"Ladies and Gentlemen! I am Sue Vance, CEO of RobCo," she called out as she entered. Guns were trained on her instantly, "This facility was RobCo property. Since RobCo is once again an actively operating company, you are now squatting on RobCo property. I am not, however, ungenerous, so I would like to speak with whoever is in charge, so we can negotiate and avoid unnecessary…"

She turned to the corpse pile behind her.

"Miscommunication."

She turned back, "Is there anyone here that speaks for your organization?"

"Just shoot her!" someone called out. Sue raised That Gun, and fired. Someone dropped to the ground, and the Raiders ducked for cover. The Securitrons opened fire again, tearing into the walls and the Raiders, littering the front hall with blood and corpses.

"Well that was just not necessary!" Sue chided as she reloaded, "All you have to do is talk to me!"

"Yeah! Okay! We'll talk!" someone shouted.

"Thank you! Yes Man, would you set up one of the tables for negotiation? Lay out the drinks we brought, let's not be rude guests," she instructed, and the Securitron cleared off one of the poker tables of all the junk, ammo, and drugs that were laid out. He arranged wine glasses and some food out for two, and one Raider walked out. She was dressed in gray rags that were barely staying together, and barely kept her modest. She was thin but well-toned and had black hair styled in a faux-hawk.

"Hi. I'm Sue," she held out her hand to shake the woman's hand. The Raider shook it.

"I'm…Ashley," the Raider said.

"Good to meet you Ashley. I suspect you've heard of the NCR's arrival yesterday? We're very excited for the opportunities. I was hoping that we could discuss some of those about this facility."

"Yeah, okay, we'll leave whenever you want, ma'am," Ashley said. Sue motioned for her to sit. She did.

"On the contrary, I'm very excited about the possibility of working with a local labor force. I was hoping to negotiate the terms of your remaining in my facility. I'm guessing your current occupation is in the distribution of recreational pharmaceuticals?"

"Uh…We sell chems?"

"Right. You sell chems. Well, I'd like to take ownership of this facility again, but I need people to run it. I'm very well experienced in the operations of casinos; I own and run two, actually. What I've found is that customers prefer to have human interfaces for most of their entertainment needs. I tried running my first casino with robots, but while the novelty was enough to keep it afloat, I needed human faces to really create an engaging experience."

"…So…You want to turn this place back into a casino?"

"Absolutely! I'm going to use a good portion of it for my corporate operations, as well, but with some hard work, this place could be a shining jewel of the Atlantic City gambling scene once again, and, well, you are already here, so I thought I would offer the positions to you, first. But before I can really make the offer, I need to know more about you, first."

"Well, uh, the guy you just shot, that was Terry. He was our boss. That was a hell of a shot, by the way…"

"Thank you, I was an accomplished gunslinger for many years. Still am, it seems."

"…Right. We, uh, we sell Psycho to caravans, who bring it along the Steel Road."

"What's the Steel Road?"

"It's-How do you not know?"

"I'm from Nevada."

"…Right. The Steel Road is, like, all the trade that goes to or from the Pitt, because they make all the iron, you know? Well, other stuff gets traded, too, like our chems. We make sure that enough gets made and sold, and we mess up anyone that doesn't sell enough, or isn't supposed to be selling it, dig?"

"I dig. Well, here's my proposal: The whole chem trade is, ultimately, all about short-term profits. Making money right now, to hell with what happens. I want to create something with longevity. So we're going to have you and your gang taught and spruced up, You'll all learnt he finer points of service and, in turn, you will be served. No more sleeping on half-stitched mattresses on the floor, everyone will have their own room, clean clothes, food _every_ day. People from all over will come in, spend their caps, have a bit of gambling, have the best food. You will be the face of Express Entertainment on the East Coast. You'll be in the family of the best gaming resorts in New Vegas. Now, we won't service only a slight population of clientele, we are a casino open to the general public. We'll have shows, games, food, liquor, companions, and _safe_ chems."

"Safe chems don't exist," Ashley laughed.

"On the contrary, safe chem use is all about environment. We'll have a chem lounge, I think over there, with properly trained _medical_ personnel who ensure that client safety comes first. Clean needles. Properly balanced mixes, things like that. Trust me, I've done it before. Oh, what do you think of a spa? That's something I've always wanted to try, is a spa."

"What's a spa?"

"We'll work on it. What do you say? Would you be my employees?"

Ashley looked over her shoulder, at the piles of her friends' corpses.

"Can people say no? Can they just take their stuff, and walk away? Join a different crew?"

"Absolutely, I'm not forcing you to sign up. It comes with an extensive benefits package: Full medical care, dental work, things like that. But until someone does sign up, there are no obligations. But anyone who doesn't sign up will have to leave, I'm afraid."

"All right. Sure. Sounds like a good deal."

"It's a _lot_ of work, and you've got a lot to learn," Sue warned.

"Ain't afraid of getting my hands dirty," Ashley said.

"Excellent! Let's start by, uh…Well, let's start with funerals, I understand this must be a very hard day for you. But you must understand, I was only defending myself."

Ashley looked at the corpses again, "You know, most of the guys who just followed Larry around were assholes anyway. I'm not that broken up about it."


	29. This Conspiracy Brought to You by RobCo

_**52 Fortune Casino, Resort, and Spa, Great Lanta**_

"ED NA, begin recording."

"-cast aside from the view of God, and embraced damnation! Yet God is not without mercy. Repent, and ye shall be saved!" the priest continued. Most everyone that walked by him ignored him. Still, he was a Priest of the Church, and if he reported in something that the Church's spies could substantiate, they could be trouble. Making him happy was worth it. So, Sue came up with the craziest of plans, and this morning, she approached him.

"And you! The succubus who has brought this evil to our shores! You, most of all, should beg the forgiveness of God! Kneel, and embrace the truth of our Savior, and you will be saved!" the priest called out. She grinned at him.

"How about God and I come to a compromise, and we'll save some souls together, eh? I got a deal for you. Step off your soapbox for a moment."

The priest looked about to his listeners, who were all looking at her. He stepped down from his crate.

"Listen, I know how the Casino looks. Drugs, booze, prostitution, gambling. But the only one of those that's actually a _sin_ is prostitution, under 'Lust,' am I right?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"Well, yeah, I'm sure. Still, I'm not one to shy away from the local community, so, when your bosses get the chance, why don't you come inside, and inspect my operation? I'm not just selling drugs and flesh here, and the drugs and flesh I _do_ sell aren't what you used to. I've worked _very_ carefully with an organization known as the Followers of the Apocalypse to ensure that we don't fall into the same traps as so many of our competitors and predecessors do. It's hard work, and it's morally gray in a lot of places, but believe me. I'd rather people shoot up in my lounges, where doctors will make sure they don't die, and I'd rather the prostitutes work here, than in the alleyway around the corner. We've only been open for a couple of weeks now, but since we have, can you honestly say this area is worse off?"

The priest hesitated, but said, "The lavishness of your sin does not mitigate it."

"That's fair. Still, I invite your bosses to see our operations. The casino has nothing to hide, and I hope that our standards meet the approval of the locals. People seem to be happy with it so far, anyway."

That was an understatement; there was a literal waiting list for all their services. They just couldn't keep up with the business, and competition was starting to pop up. The drug dealers had always been there, but now they were putting together competing dens and offering medical help. More gambling had popped up here and there. The only thing Sue had interfered with were the new brothels that were getting organized; she cracked down on those, and made sure they were operated to her standards.

"I'll…Speak with them," he promised.

"Excellent. I look forward to meeting them," Sue told him, and the priest left.

"Most of my journey has been about finding history and observing things as they are. Seeing life as it was, never as it is. It's refreshing to see the Wasteland in the midst of progress, and see history in the making. Here is Great Lanta, the largest and most active port on the East Coast. It's largely controlled by pirates and drug-peddlers, held back only by the Church that promises fire and damnation upon any who break their tenants against slavery, or cross too many lines," a man wearing a unique suit of Power armor spoke into an Eyebot, "The history of Great Lanta can be traced back all the way befo-"

"I can't believe _you_ are still chattering on into that eyebot," Sue called out, and the man in Power Armor turned to her.

"And I can't believe the rumors are true. I'd heard that someone had moved into Great Lanta, but the Governor of Mojave? You're awfully far from New Vegas," the man replied.

"Well there's a lot going down these days, and I didn't want to miss the action. Besides. It's Brotherhood business. There's a lot going on these days."

"So I hear. I've been out of the loop for a few years now. It seemed everything was starting to calm down, and the country was going back to one of those quiet eras where everyone accumulates problems until some hero or another comes along and solves them."

"Well who says it needs to be a new hero?" she asked, "Hell I'm tried and true. It's good to see you gain, Storyteller."

"It's always a pleasure, Courier."

"Listen, I could use your help with something. And not like, my new casino. The real reason the NCR is out here," she told him, "And the rest of the Coalition."

"I'd be happy to help. First, though, tell me more about your operation. It's not often I get to record history as it's happening."

"Let's head inside, and talk some more. You can keep ED NA running, I don't think anyone will mind."

She led him inside; clients and workers gawked at the man in full Power Armor. Brotherhood suits were not uncommon, but his armor was bulbous and almost insect-like, as opposed to the plates of armor that were typical of the Brotherhood. The novelty wore off quickly, though, as strange sightings were starting to be commonplace since the NCR arrived.

"I don't understand why we're stalling here, the entire region is falling apart, and we're building a casino!" Zhao Ming demanded. The upper and basement levels of the casino were reserved for the coalition's operations as a sort of headquarters. Sue also used them as a kind of embassy.

"The casino is a front," Sue said as she entered with the Storyteller in tow.

"Well, yes, we're using it for communications and-"

"No, we could do that from the boat. The casino is a front, the same way that the Lucky 38 is a front. It's actually a major RobCo facility with complex communication equipment and infrastructure. Everyone, this is the Storyteller. He's a member of the Brotherhood, and he's the only one I know of that has operated for both East and West coast chapters. We can trust him," Sue explained, "He's a historian."

"What do we need a historian for?" Captain Yancey asked.

"A Historian who's been to Ronto," Sue pointed out, "To answer your question, Storyteller, this coalition is built from the NCR, the Shi, the Brotherhood, and RobCo."

"RobCo? I thought Mr. House died before the Battle of Hoover Dam," the Storyteller said.

"He did. I took over. I brought back RobCo as a means of legitimizing my work. That way, I'm not just some lady putting tech back together and running a casino. I'm the head of a major conglomerate, bringing an Old World behemoth back to life with a new direction. That's the story anyway."

"But the truth is never that simple," the Storyteller observed.

"Indeed. The truth is, Storyteller, and everyone, is that something has been brewing for a long time, perhaps even from the beginning. When we think of conspiracies and evil, the Master and the Enclave come to mind, but I looked at Mr. House's data, and the conclusions are very troubling. So much suffering has come out of the hands of ideologues, like Caesar and the Enclave Presidents, that we never really thought to look at more conventional powers.

"House was all about control. He had eyes and ears all over the country. Every Protectron was a possible spy, and certainly every RobCo facility was filled with some kind of reporting ability. It's tougher to get those reports further from the center-being the Lucky 38, so he built a second brain. The 52 Fortune. Every RobCo facility can be monitored from here. Every scrap of technology that made New Vegas what it is, is either already here, or can be replicated here. There's only one other facility like this, and the third is out in Minnesota of all places.

"When I get this casino's true function working again, I'll be able to control every RobCo facility from here to Louisiana in one way or another. We'll be able to communicate in a way unheard of in two hundred years. We'll be able to build and supply ourselves much further than any other power in the former United States. Our coalition will be _the_ dominant force in all the Wastelands."

"You mean _you_ will be the dominant force," Captain Yancey accused, "You didn't tell this to Congress, you just fed them a bunch of crap about how the NCR would get dragged into this war that's brewing! But you just picked up Mr. House's plan to take over the country!"

"And you certainly haven't shared a fraction of what you have access to with the Brotherhood. We always knew you were hiding something from us. How can we trust you now, with everything that's going on? With this? You're just setting yourself up to be a tyrant on two coasts! You're using us to destroy your competition!" Scribe Trapezium added.

"I'm inclined to agree, that this whole thing was just a scam to get what you wanted," Zhao Ming agreed, "But at the same time, you've never been one to share wealth. You've been very generous with the Shi in the past. With all of us. I will listen, but you have to tell us everything."

"All right. I specifically chose you three to represent your respective groups. Captain, we served together in the war. I know at the time it didn't seem like we were going to get along, but you were the first to work with the Securitrons after I revealed their enhanced functions. Not only that, you questioned me the entire time. You never let up. I've never had anyone question me like that before. I wanted your scrutiny. I wanted you to keep me honest to the NCR.

"Trapezium, you come from a Brotherhood lineage tracing back to Elder Rhombus. The Brotherhood is everything to you, and those traditions are important. But you aren't stuck in them. You've seen how the Brotherhood has changed in so many ways, and instead of shying away, you engage that change, without altering your principles. It's still about technology, and protecting humanity from it. I wanted you to do exactly that: To make sure that the technology we'll be handling doesn't consume us, as it has so many times in the past.

"And Ming, the Shi aren't Brotherhood or NCR. You're your own monster. The Brotherhood and the NCR, they're family, but you, the Shi are _neighbors._ Not exactly strangers, but still, outsiders to our operations. I chose you because of your curiosity, because you want to see how the Shi will engage with a world so much bigger than San Francisco. The Shi will find their place and stake it out, and make the world revolve around them, and I couldn't find anyone that could do it better.

"You're all checks. On me. You're the only people capable of telling me, 'No, this is a bad idea. I won't let you do this.' I considered creating kill-keys, something that would allow you to shut down the RobCo network, if it ever came to that, but then I realized, that's exactly the stupid kind of thing that some lucky jerk with a destiny would take advantage of to oppose us. Kill the most important leaders of the Coalition, steal their keys, and shut the whole thing down at the last minute.

"Instead, I'm going to rely on the fact that _I can't do this without you._ Captain, you were right to suspect me of usurping Mr. House's plans, but Mr. House didn't think this far ahead. He planned on using the NCR to defeat the Legion, and then use his Securitron army to toss you out, too. I almost did it, too. But then I realized, Mr. House was only interested in his own little corner of the world. That the NCR was not only inevitable, it was necessary, a second chance to try again and learn from the old mistakes. So I decided to use that power to keep the NCR honest. And so far? It's worked. The NCR voted Hsu in. The Mojave is providing power and services to its people.

"And, for the record, I told him _everything._ He still agreed. I just didn't tell _congress_ everything.

"As I explored and expanded on Mr. House's tech and network, I started seeing more and more patterns, connecting to more and more networks. According to calculations based on Mr. House's work, the Caesarean tribes in Arizona and Colorado are going to unite again, and they're going to have a much more nuanced and complex society.

"Then, I started running those calculations based on what I learned about other factions. The Luddites of Missouri and Kansas are doomed to infrastructure failure, though their traditions of personal craftsmanship will be carried on by successor cultures. The drug trade out east would create a kingdom forged from the gangs. The Institute would create a new nation-state, small in size but considerable in power. And then I ran the Brotherhood of Steel through those calculations.

"Every sign pointed to nuclear tyranny. Cities obliterated all over again. Progress stamped out. The Brotherhood getting larger and larger as people had no alternatives to turn to, creating a technological powerhouse where all people served a kingly figure, bound together in an ancient cult. Inevitably, it would destroy itself and another comparable power that would destroy much of the country. The only comparable power in size, capability, and technology…Is the NCR, Shi, and Brotherhood.

"Not all of the calculations came true. The Institute was destroyed rather than came to power. I didn't predict the Pitt's importance, and we knew nothing about Atlantica or the Cotton Kings. In the last few weeks, through listening to traders and locals, we've learned more than we have in the last decade about the East Coast.

"But what convinced me that this expedition needed to happen was a distress call I'd received. You see, Mr. House listened for everything. There's a Russian television network that teaches people how to navigate their way to America. That's why there's so many immigrants from Europe out in the East, and almost none out west. Radio transmissions throughout the NCR. GNR in the Capital Wasteland. Old bases still trying to get orders. But this distress signal was special. It was meant for me, specifically.

"It was sent by an old friend, Arcade Gannon. He and I convinced a squad of old Enclave troopers to join the fight at the Hoover Dam. You may have remembered them, Yancey. I was with them, in one of their suits, all painted up NCR patriotic. Well, they found a place to settle down, with other Enclave survivors out in Vermont. And they were under attack. By the Brotherhood of Steel.

"I took it as validation-and my friend needed my help. Now, I have no way of coming to his rescue right now. But I hope, every day, that he's still pleading. And I am coming. With or without the rest of you. I will not, however, do this in such a way that breaks the East. If there's a way to save the Brotherhood without sacrificing the rest of the East, I'll do it.

"The more I look into everything, the more I see a constant, though: Ronto. Ronto fought a war against the Free State, Ronto rallied the Raiders of Empire into a new Kingdom, Ronto funded an army to ravage the Commonwealth, Ronto is making a major offensive into Ohio again, Ronto is using submarines. The more I try to figure out these guys, the more I realize, I don't know anything about them.

"But Ronto is a story for another time. The question is, despite my half-truths and lies, now that you know the truth, _are you still with me?_ What is it that you ask of me? Because now is the time we need to start acting, before someone acts on us."


	30. The Canadian Menace

_**54 Fortune, Great Lanta**_

"So where's ED-E?" the Storyteller asked Sue while the others spoke in private.

"I've got him in storage for the time being. He's able to interface with a lot of military systems, so I don't want people to start ogling him until I need him. He's good with kids, though."

"Why can't you take after him more?" Storyteller asked his own Eyebot, who gave a flustered beep.

"Hey, never change, ED-NA. You're perfect just the way you are," Sue told the Eyebot, who gave a purring chime, and looked away from her human defiantly.

"You've always been good at flattery," Storyteller remarked, crossing his arms.

"People like hearing about how they're awesome," Sue shrugged, "It's just how folks are."

The door to the adjacent room opened, and the three representatives returned from their deliberation.

"Tell us about Ronto," Captain Yancey demanded.

"Are you sure? It's a long story. You might want to sit down," Storyteller warned.

"We need to know more," Ming said.

"All right. It's just some people aren't happy with my monologuing for prolonged periods, so I'll try to pace myself. How much do you know of prewar history?"

"Just what they teach in school," Captain Yancey.

"More Chinese history than American history," Ming admitted. Trapezium crossed his arms.

"Okay. Well, at the height of the Resource Wars leading up to the nuclear devastation, the United States predicted that China would invade Anchorage, and established a defensive line in Alaska, well north of the NCR."

"We know where Alaska is. The NCR's established outposts there already," Captain Yancey said.

"Of course you have," the Storyteller sighed, "Well, the United States needed to supply Anchorage with fresh troops and supplies, as well as build a pipeline that supplied oil to refineries in America. To do that, they needed to move through Canada. Here's the thing about having a neighbor: Sometimes they say 'No' when you ask for something you really want, and in 2066, Canada nearly refused to allow American troops and oil to pass through their borders, but backed down.

"The Americans started using resources in Canada to supply their troops, instead of pulling from home, which only made matters worse. That's when the Canadian people started to fight back, protecting their lands from the Americans with rifles and barricades, but against heavily armed troops, it wasn't much of a contest. The initial Canadian resistance was put down with prejudice, expecting to end the question, but the Americans underestimated their resolve.

"The Canadian military was basically taken over by the Americans, but many soldiers refused to serve on the American frontline, and a full-fledged rebellion took place throughout Canada, which was slowly getting annexed, piece by piece. They struck at convoys, the pipeline, and the city of Edmonton had a revolt that ended in American soldiers in Power Armor destroying most of the city, along with nearly everyone in it. The brutal crackdown seemed to have worked-By 2076, Canada was fully annexed by the United States, and the Canadian resistance was crippled.

"Crippled, but not destroyed. Instead of bombs and guns, the Canadian resistance used new methods of resistance. With most of their people reliant on American infrastructure, the Resistance took to building compounds in the most fertile regions of Canada, building farms and shelters and stashing whatever supplies they could. Suddenly, the people the American occupation were fighting were now their primary suppliers. They were reliant on them.

"Their popularity got the former Resistance elected to local positions, while American puppets took higher positions like the Prime Minister and Governorships. In one city, once known as Toronto, a Canadian sleeper agent named Jane Doyce was elected Mayor. On the surface, she was a Red-White-And-Blue-Blooded American convert. She was a French Canadian who stopped speaking her people's language, and welcomed American troops into his city.

"But Maple Syrup ran in her veins, not Nuka-Cola. It was all a ruse to lure the Americans into a false sense of security with Toronto. The Americans would trust them with their guns and supplies. They even built the largest Vault on the continent, Vault 60, which was the crux of Mayor Doyce's plan.

"Doyce believed that nuclear war was inevitable, that America and China would destroy each other in atomic fire. Vault 60 was intended to protect the American soldiers and their families stationed in Toronto and the surrounding towns, with several different entrances. But Doyce had the Resistance infiltrate the Vault, and drill to seize control of it.

"They smuggled in weapons and supplies they would need to take back their country after the nuclear destruction. When the sirens wailed, it was the local Canadian population and the Resistance that piled into Vault 60, not the American garrison. A few units of the Resistance fended off an outright attack by American soldiers, staying behind while their city burned, becoming Canada's first Ghouls, while the American soldiers-the ones that didn't get themselves killed-became the first Raiders.

"After a few decades of isolation, Vault 60 managed to begin communicating with the Ghouls on top. At the age of seventy-four and still the Overseer of Vault 60, Jane Doyce began coordinating the reclamation of Toronto by organizing the Ghoul survivors, making sure that their beloved city wasn't overrun by the Ferals or the American bandits that were making nuisances of themselves.

"Doyce had a vision of a Canadian Empire, a belief that since America had failed as the world's superpower, failed Canada as well as their own citizens, that a Canadian leadership was necessary to protect Canada from future American aggression. To her, all Americans were culpable in the nuclear war, bringing it upon the world with their greed and insatiable appetites for more stuff.

"The Overseer had written it into her will that the Vault was to be opened upon her death. They had GECKs, technology, the writings and apprentices of some of the greatest minds Canada had to offer, and they had thousands of healthy people. So when she finally died at the age of ninety-seven, they opened the Vault, and despite their training and supplies, they were unprepared for what they found.

"The Nuclear holocaust had not been kind to Toronto. Little did they know, the city had been a testing ground for the FEV virus, so instead of a handful of Raiders, they found it overflowing with Super Mutants. For decades, the Canadians have been fighting a bloody war against them, which hampered their progress and development, especially when, on occasion, someone important would get grabbed and dipped, and retain some of their memories. The Super Mutants' greatest soldiers against the Canadians were, themselves, Canadians.

"The Super Mutants divided the Canadians into sectors, each ruled by the local commander. These commanders became the founders of three of the Five Families of Ronto, a complex system of meritocracy and nobility that still rules them today. More on that in a minute.

"Eventually, it was the Super Mutants' practice of dipping captives that proved to be their downfall. They captured a man named Jean Tremblay and dipped him, and he was one of the smart ones that came out. But he was too well-preserved. Instead of being disgusted with what he became and resigned himself to the position of a green, ugly brute, he decided he was still Jean Tremblay, just with a bit of extra muscle. He found other Canadian Super Mutants, and convinced them of the same thing, and together, they staged the Green Revolt, when a quarter of the Super Mutants rebelled against the others, and joined the Four Families. With the help of a young soldier on a quest to save their siblings, Ronto defeated the Super Mutants, and Tremblay became the founder of the Fourth Family.

"Now, the Five Families compete with each other for position of Minister, as well as access to other resources. The Ronto Minister is the leader of all five Families and commander of their forces. The Families are expected to maintain sizable trained militias, and there is to be no fighting within the city of Ronto, which is why they compete for resources from outside the city. Favor is given to those who can bring more weapons, supplies, and control more land.

"There are two ways to become part of the Families: Be born into it, or earn it. Those born into the Families are expected to serve the Families and the Minister; you will lose your titles and inheritance if you, say, go into business for yourself as a water merchant. But if you serve as a privateer for ten years before starting your own business, then you've served, and you keep your titles. If you perform some great deed, or serve with distinction, you might get Adopted by one of the Families, or by the Minister themselves, and join the ranks of their aristocracy. This system keeps most people interested in serving the State, regardless of what's asked of them.

"But with power comes corruption. There had always been dissent, but after the defeat of the Super Mutants in 2175, came a rebellion, when disenfranchised citizens demanded more rights and to be better supplied. The Families could easily have put down the rebellion, but the Minister at the time didn't. Instead, she created the Fifth Family, the Family of the People. They still had the same responsibilities of the other Families, but their positions of power are all elected positions. Catch is, they have term limits. Once your term is up, you lose your status. The only way to keep it is to be elected to a different position, or get Adopted by one of the other Four Families. Over the next century, the Fifth Family has produced the most complex and transparent democracy that the continent has seen since, well, let's face it, probably ever. Since the foundation of the Fifth Family, one out of every three Ministers has come out of their ranks.

"After the rebellion, Ronto has had an interest in their neighbors. They started with the communities around them, either conquering them outright or annexing them through deals, until they stretch from Maine to Michigan and everywhere between.

"At the turn of the century, Ronto encountered the Free State for the first time. To Ronto, the Free State was everything that Jane Doyce had warned them about: Corrupt, greedy, expansionist, powerful. Back then, they controlled Detroit, Toledo, and Cleveland as well as Columbus and Cincinnati. They were the first true nation on the East Coast aside from Ronto itself, and they were not going to put up with it, and so they started the Detroit War in 2213. They took that city, but they paid a heavy price for it, to the point that instead of the glorious war where they swept through the Free State and occupied the heartland of America, they ended up licking their wounds for another twenty years. For the last eighty years, the Free State and Ronto have been fighting over Lake Eerie and the communities surrounding it, seemingly in a perpetual stalemate.

"Thirty-five years ago, something changed in the East. The tide of monsters coming out of western Pennsylvania that prevented the Free State from expanding in that direction came to a stop. Raiders became more concentrated, more organized, and new production began. The fires of the Pitt were rekindled by Lord Ashur. It didn't seem like it at the time, but this changed everything for Ronto when they made their third attack on the Free State in 2262. Mercenaries from the Pitt that fought for the Free State were armed with newly manufactured gear, while Ronto was still relying on the massive stashes of prewar equipment they'd stolen from the US army. Someone high up in Ronto realized that they would be outpaced, and so they took a bold new direction.

"They started to trade with the Pitt. They became the largest consumer of the Pitt's resources, as well as its biggest supplier of raw materials. This fueled the Pitt's need to expand, and its need for new labor. The Pitt started to collect slaves, mostly from the Capital Wasteland, which had been starting to have its own rise in power owing to its major technological research centers. The Free State was unable to expand into the area due to its own ally. People from Philadelphia to Richmond were terrified of Pitt slavers, and this was all intentional, keeping the locals down while the Families got to build up.

"Sometime before 2273, Ronto must have decided that it was working well enough to try something a little different. Recent records pulled from the Capital Wasteland tell us that Talon Company, a mercenary group operating out of the Capital Wasteland, and now out of the Knoxes in Kentucky and Tennessee, were trained and equipped by Ronto. It was enough of a success, that it seems that Ronto did it again and again, arming the Crews of Empire with guns and chems, and encouraging them to take territory from their rivals and local powers.

"They repeated the process with the Gunners in the Commonwealth, only this time, instead of funding the entire operation, they trained a handful of soldiers and sent them to the Commonwealth to recruit, keeping them supplied without controlling them directly.

"Ronto would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for those meddling Vault Dwellers. In the Capital Wasteland, a hero known as the Lone Wanderer broke Talon Company by killing its leadership and leading the Brotherhood throughout the Wasteland. And just late last year, the Sole Survivor, the General of the Minutemen, brought an end to the Gunners by retaking Quincy in a coalition that looks an awful lot like yours. In trying to cripple their neighbors, Ronto managed to create rallying events for the locals that led to the very powers they were trying to suffocate.

"Their biggest failure had to be in Empire, though, where the gangs they armed and trained to keep the region in chaos were united by King Francis, and when Ronto attacked the Free State again in 2283, it seemed like they were finally going to break their old enemy, until King Francis got involved. But that's a story for another time."

"So we have a nation of pissed off Canadians who want to prevent a new American nation from getting too powerful, and are willing to supply slavers and bandits with guns to do it," Captain Yancey said.

"That's one way to look at it. But I've been to Ronto. I've met some of their leaders. They aren't bad people, but they've been following the ideology of their founder for centuries. In their minds, Americans aren't inherently evil, but are culturally incapable of handling power. It's easy to paint the people of Ronto has warmongers, but the truth of it is that the people of Ronto are kind and generous, dedicated to their communities. They're also raised in a culture of fear about American nations having too much power and not enough sense of duty," the Storyteller pointed out.

"Is there any way to reason with them?" Sue asked.

"I suspect so. From what I hear, Elder Maxson has engaged in an alliance with Ronto, and brought the United Commonwealth with them into it. That just might be the sort of arrangement that Ronto's been looking for all along, since they recently just launched major offensives into the Free State and Empire, while the Brotherhood attacks Albany and Champli. It'll be difficult just talking them down, though. From their perspective, this is the big break that they've been looking for all along. They might not want to give it up for the prospect of peace with yet more American powers, particularly one like the NCR."

"One way or another, I think we'll have to deal with Ronto once and for all. If the NCR lets them rampage around, it would only be a matter of time before the borders touched, and conflict would ignite all over again," Ming said, "And a conflict like that would be unlike anything the country has seen since the Great War."

"We still have to determine what is going on with the Eastern Brotherhood, and whether or not intervention is required. Remember, the Brotherhood is here to assess the situation, not to stick our hands where our business is not needed," Trapezium said.

"I specialize in situations like this," Sue told them, "I can bring this all to an end. But I need to know if you still back me."

The three exchanged glances with each other. Trapezium crossed his arms.

"All right, Sentinel. Let's get your company working again."


	31. Party Like it's the End of the World

The Declaration, Great Lanta

"I gotta say, I could get used to this place, Hancock," Crichton, the current head of the Neigborhood Watch, remarked as he marveled at their neighbor across the street. Hancock took a deep breath of his joint, and let out the smoke slowly. They'd gotten here about a week ago, and immediately set upon creating their own drug den and bar. It was providing a good number of caps, but Hancock was making sure his people were getting fed, so it didn't seem like they'd be getting a fortune unless they got an infusion of caps sometime soon to expand.

"I thought Diamond City was what civilization was like," Hancock admitted, "But after this? Man, up north we're still crawling through our own filth. Can't believe they built all this in a month."

"That casino's something else," Fahrenheit agreed.

"You know, if things were different, I'd stay, start my own casino. Show these NCR guys how to really party," Hancock said, "But…That's not the path we chose. We chose to be part of the United Commonwealth. We chose to build something. And like hell I'm gonna let someone take that choice away from us. I'm a founding father, god dammit, and I'm gonna sign my John Hancock on Arthur Maxson's tombstone. Like hell I'm gonna sit around getting high, waiting for that prick to come and kill me. Lanta's great. I like what the NCR boys have done to fix things up for people. But this is our revolution. We're going to take our country back."

The others all nodded and cheered at Hancock's speech, stomping feet and banging tankards of beer.

"Hey Boss? We got a robot out front. Says he's here to talk to you," a Neighborhood Watchman said.

"Show him in," Hanock ordered, and a large, blue robot with one wheel rolled in.

"Hi there! You must be John Hancock! My name is Yes Man! I'm here to deliver an invitation to you and your people from the proprietor of the 52 Fortune! Isn't that great?"

The Securitron produced an envelope with a shiny trim and a red wax seal. Hancock broke it, and read the letter. It was an invitation to visit the upper VIP levels of the 52 Fortune, where they'd have access to all their features specially reserved for them. Normally, there was a waiting list for the drug den and to meet with the companion, but they would get special attention in the VIP section. There would be a gambling tournament, live music, food and alcohol, the whole nine yards.

"What's the catch?" Hancock asked.

"You're not the only attendee, and the proprietor has asked that you, yourself, remain lucid enough to engage in high-level discussions," Yes Man said, "But your friends are welcome to enjoy themselves."

"This could be the break we've been looking for," Crichton pointed out.

"It could be a trap," Fahrenheit added.

"We gotta take that chance," Hancock said, "I'll go, if my bodyguard comes with me to the discussions."

"I think we can work with that! The party is tonight. We look forward to seeing you! Have a wonderful day!" Yes Man turned and wheeled out of the Declaration again.

"I don't like this," Fahrenheit growled.

"Neither do I. I don't like not being able to do something about our situation. I don't like having someone else being able to lord opportunities over us. I hate that we don't have a say. But we don't have a choice," Hancock pointed out, "So, tonight, boys and girls? We party!"

52 Fortune, Great Lanta

That Night

Slots rang. People cheered, others groaned. Some moaned. The VIP section was filled with people of all walks of life. Some were dressed in prewar suits. Some were wearing colorful tribal outfits. Super Mutants and Ghouls. To Hancock's surprise, there were even people dressed in Brotherhood robes. It wasn't packed, but the VIP area was certainly busy. The crowd was enough to hide the heavy security that was everywhere. The waiters and waitresses were all packing weaponry. Guards lined the walls, and Securitrons were not far away.

"I'm here to speak with the 'proprietor?'" Hancock said to one of the guards.

"The meeting's not for a couple of hours. Please enjoy the party, Mr. Hancock," the guard told him. Hancock nodded, and turned back to it all. People from all walks of life were having the time of their lives. Even the Super Mutants seemed to be enjoying themselves at some kind of punching machine. Through the ruckus, a single laughing voice caught his hear. There was no way! He made his way to the noise, and stopped in his tracks when he came face to face with her.

"Mon dieu! Monsieur Hancock!" Curie gawked at him, eyes wide and jaw dropped. Hancock smiled, and before he could say anything, she had pressed him against that lovely, soft smoothskin body in that tight, red dress. He wasn't going to do anything inappropriate, of course. That didn't stop him from thinking anything inappropriate.

"Curie!" he said, breaking her grip just enough for him to take a breath, "It's so good to see you!"

"Oh, John, you absolutely must meet my new friends! You recall Dr. Virgil, of course. This is Midea and Wernher. They are the leaders of the Pitt, and they have been most generous to myself and the other Synths and members of the University from the Commonwealth," Curie shoved him in front of them. Wernher had white hair, a moustache, and an eyepatch. He was wearing a tuxedo. Midea was graying, wearing a blue dress that showed her shoulders and the start of her bosom. Virgil was wearing a white, tieless suit that he looked surprisingly suave in.

"Heya, good to meet you folks. I'm Hancock, mayor of Goodneighbor, and proprietor of the Third Rail and the Declaration," he offered his hand, which Wernher and Midea shook.

"Good to meet you. Curie's mentioned you," Midea said.

"All good I hope?" he grinned.

"Oh, Monsieur, I have nothing negative to say about any of my friends," Curie insisted, "You have all been like family to me since I came out of the Vault."

"I feel the same way, Curie. I wish we had more here," he admitted, and the mood immediately became somber as Hancock, Curie, and Dr. Virgil took a moment to reflect on their lost friends.

"So, uh, the Pitt, huh?" Hancock broke the silence, addressing Midea and Wernher, "You hear so much about the place but I can't say I've ever actually met anyone from there."

"We mostly keep to ourselves. Outsiders do most of the trading," Wernher said, "But there's a lot going on these days. Harder and harder to stay in our own territory."

"I hear that. You ever been to the Commonwealth?"

"Just to the Capital Wasteland. This is my first time since then, too," Wernher said.

"It's my first time, as well. I was born a slave in the Pitt," Midea added.

"Well, everywhere's a hellhole, really," Hancock admitted, "Did you get an 'invitation' for a 'discussion,' as well?"

"Yes. Do you know about this Proprietor?" Midea asked.

"Just what everyone else does. Came with the NCR on that big boat and set up shop in an old casino, and got it running gain in a couple of weeks. Practically changed the city overnight," Hancock said, "But I don't even have a name. Of course, we barely just got here, ourselves. I got a hundred people to feed."

"It was much the same for us when we arrived at the Pitt," Dr. Virgil said.

"Well, enough of being dour. This is a party, isn't it? Let's go check out these poker tables," Hancock insisted. They found a table where a man with a metal eyepatch was playing against the dealer. He started to stand up and leave.

"Hey, now, we're all friendly here," Hancock said, "Sit down and join us."

"Sorry. Too crowded for me," the man insisted.

"If you join us, the drinks will keep coming, on me," Hancock insisted. The man considered, and sat back down.

"I could use a buzz."

"That's the spirit. Or Spirits. Get this guy whatever he wants, on me," Hancock said, "Seeing as we're all in the 'making friends' kind of mood. I'm Hancock."

"…I'm…Porter. I'll have a whiskey."

"Good to meet you, Porter. You get an invite, or are you here on someone else's dime?"

"I, ah…I'm on an invitation."

"Right on," Hancock accepted his cards.

"I've never actually played poker," Midea admitted, shaking her head at her hand.

"Oh, it is a simple game, just matching cards to what we are given by the dealer. You want as many cards to match as you can, but only up to four," Curie began explaining the game to her, walking her through the first hand.

"I've never seen a place like this before," Midea confessed, "It's all so…Clean, and intact. Nothing broken or torn, it all looks…Not new, but kept up."

"It was like this in some parts of my Vault," Curie said, "But never have I see something like this beyond it. I can't quite put my finger on what makes it so special, though."

"It's deliberate," Porter said, folding, "Manufactured. So much of what you see out there, in the wasteland, it's done by hand, or it's salvaged. Everything here? They brought this with them. It was made for this purpose."

"Almost feels…Fake," Hancock confessed.

"I like what Mr. Porter says," Midea remarked, "Deliberate."

"Yes," Curie agreed, "Someone took great care to make this casino and make it look the way it does. Amazing what they accomplished in such a short time."

"Takes a lot of planning to pull something like this off," Porter said, raising on his next hand, "Whoever this proprietor, they're aiming to impress."

"What do you do, Mr. Porter?" Midea asked.

"Porter is my first name," he corrected, "I used to be an…Advisor to the locals. Seems the NCR is interested in my services and experiences. How about yourselves?"

"We are scientists, Dr. Virgil and myself," Curie said.

"We're the leaders from the Pitt," Wernher said, gesturing to Midea.

"And you, O Generous dispenser of drinks?" Porter asked, sipping his whiskey.

"Mayor of Goodneighbor," Hancock said, "Best little town in the Commonwealth."

"I remember Goodneighbor. Terrible drinks," Porter said, "Good people."

"They got better," Hancock insisted.

"The drinks or the people?"

"Both. Especially since we got Buddy. Now it's a constant stream of Cold Ones. If the fucking Brotherhood hasn't taken him apart for pieces."

"Monsters!" Curie huffed, "Betraying Nora like that! Throwing her off their airship, because she was busy doing the right thing!"

Porter scowled, "Did you say Nora?"

"Oui. She is a good friend of ours. A hero to the Commonwealth, and the Brotherhood has snuffed out our greatest hope! My dearest friend!" Curie slammed down her cards, "I do hope that the Proprietor is here to give them what they deserve!"

"Is this the anem General Nora of the Minutemen?" Porter asked.

"That's the one," Hancock confirmed. Hero of the Commonwealth. God rest her south."

Porter stood, "Good riddance. Thanks for the drinks."

Hancock's hand shot out and he grabbed Porter's arm, "You want to say that again, pal?"

"Excuse me!" Yes Man called out, "But violence in the casino will not be tolerated! Please release your fellow patron!"

All eyes were on Hancock and Porter at this. Hancock let him go.

"Pardon me. Got a little testy. Been a little too sober lately," Hancock took what was left of Porter's whiskey and drank it, "But it's not every day that I meet someone who's got a chip on their shoulder about Nora. I've never met anyone she hasn't done something for to improve their lives. So I'm curious: What Mirelurk crawled up your ass?"

"Nora betrayed and killed everyone I knew and cared about," Porter said, "And destroyed my life's work. So excuse me if I don't think highly of the woman."

"I wouldn't have too much sympathy," Wernher said, "Seeing as you're a Raider."

Porter glanced around the room at all the men and women instinctively going for their guns when he said this, though none of them were actually armed.

"Oh, so it's like that," Hancock snickered, "Well, I don't feel so defensive now, if you're a piece of shit, and I assume so were your friends."

Porter punched Hancock across the face, "I'll feed you what's left of your skin, zombie!"

Hancock smashed the whiskey glass against the poker table, and jabbed it into Porter's chest, but it didn't stop the raider from slamming his fist into Hancock's face again, grabbing him by the collar, and slamming him against the table, and the shattered glass. A pair of Securitrons physically pulled them off of each other.

"Well, I think everyone's adequately liquored up," a woman called out, entering the casino, "You know the party's started once a fight's broken out."

Governor Vance was small, with red hair and a ponytail, but years of exercise and adventuring had packed on muscle, and years of war had put no end of scars on her skin. She still had freckles dotting the front of her face, though. She wore a duster with an NCR bear on the back of it, over a blue vault suit.

"Since you two started the fight, you two get to share the first stories. You, Mr. Gage. Since you swung first, you go first. Let's see what we can learn here."

"Fuck you!"

"I could always have my Securitrons rip your arms and legs off and throw them in the sea," the Governor offered, "Or you can listen to what I have to say, and be part of a much bigger picture. You're a big-picture kind of guy, aren't you, Mr. Gage? That's what brought you to Nuka World, isn't it?"

He glared at her, but she just grinned.

"I asked you all here because you're all important or skilled. Some of you are local leaders or businessfolk. Others are representatives of factions from all over the East Coast. In one way or another, you're all affected by what's going on in New England and in the Francine Kingdom. I don't expect anything from any of you, but I do want you to hear me out. But before we do, I want you to hear him out. Go on, Gage. Tell us how Nora betrayed you at Nuka World. I'm curious, because I can't stop hearing things about this Nora. I want to know how she fucked you."

Porter Gage grabbed someone else's drink, and downed it.

"It started when we sent out the bait signal to attract adventurers to Nuka World. We'd taken it over with three rival Raider gangs about a year before, but our boss, Colter, got lazy. And it was time for a change. So we set up the Gauntlet to attract someone who might be able to kill him, and take his place. When Nora got through the Gauntlet in one piece, I knew we had a winner."


End file.
